


one hundred ways to say i love you

by littleoldrachel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 100 Ways to Say I Love You Writing Challenge, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anxiety, Chronic Illness, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kittens, M/M, Mental Illness, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attack, References to eating disorders, Self Harm, Slow Burn, fibromyalgia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:41:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoldrachel/pseuds/littleoldrachel
Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, it's a fact of life that they would move heaven and earth for each other.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin





	1. "Pull over, let me drive for a while."

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post by p0ch3tf0x](http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for references to awful parenting, vomit & a panic attack.

  1. "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."



It’s quiet in the car; above the gentle thrum of the engine, and the occasional crunch of shifting gears, the only sounds are Sirius’ shaky breaths every now and again. Remus had suggested having the radio on – Sirius _loves_ singing along at the top of his lungs when he’s driving – but Sirius had shied away from the idea.

That, more than anything, worries Remus – more than the painfully few possessions Sirius has bought with him that are now scattered loose across the backseats, more than his insistence that _he_ would drive, because “ _please_ , Moony, I need to feel in control of _something, fuck_ ,” more even than the overly-bright eyes that are fixed on the road ahead. His silence is troubling because Sirius is _loud,_ he is _bright,_ Sirius was born to shine, and right now, he has been stripped of that, stripped of everything that makes him so _Sirius._ They’ve been driving for _hours_ , they’re safe now, _Sirius is safe,_ they’re a far enough distance away – only Remus can’t help but think that they’ll never be far enough away; Sirius is never going to completely outrun the emotional scars that years of neglect and abuse have inflicted upon him.

He presses his forehead against the cool window, and forces himself not to think about that, forces himself not to remember how sad and _broken_ Sirius looks when he’s been told to “ _get out, get out and never come back_.” How even though they have treated him in the worst possible ways, even though they’ve damaged him and hurt him, they are still his parents. How Sirius can’t help but cling to that tiny thread of hope that whispers that they love him regardless of everything he is, everything he can’t help.

Remus never wants to see that thread be snapped ever again, never wants to watch the light in Sirius’ eyes vanish.

Instead, he focuses on watching the darkness streak past his window, the gloom intermittently interrupted by a burst of golden light from another car’s headlights. If James were here, he would know exactly what to say, Remus thinks bitterly, and allows himself a moment of self-loathing for being completely _useless_ , before he pulls himself together again. Sirius called Remus, not James, so clearly Sirius wants him here –

In fact – Remus still doesn’t know why Sirius called _him_ and not Best Friend James, only knows that he drove like a demon the second Sirius had called him in tears, breaking every single speed limit and most of the Highway Code until he’d reached Sirius (and it still wasn’t fast enough).

(If he’s being honest with himself though, Remus would drive in to Hell if Sirius needed him to – but now is not the time to think about that particular heartache).

Sirius suddenly lets out a sound like a sob being ripped from his chest, tries too late to disguise it as a cough, and Remus can’t take it anymore –

“Padfoot,” Remus says softly, and either Sirius doesn’t hear him, or he’s just ignoring him. His breathing is a little more laboured, but his gaze is still determinedly fixed on the road ahead.

“ _Sirius,”_ Remus says, gently putting his hand over Sirius’ on the gearstick. Sirius starts a little, looks at him with a heart wrenching, lost expression, then back at the road, and he’s trembling, his hands clenched tight on the wheel, but he’s still _shaking_.

“Pull over. Let me drive for a while.” He leaves no room for argument in his tone, and thankfully, Sirius doesn’t try and fight it. (Again, this is uncharacteristic, and Remus’ stomach is clenched in concern, and his heart is _aching_ for him, this is so unfair, so wrong wrong wrong-). Sirius pulls in to the next layby, and immediately gets out of the car, the door slamming behind him.

Remus clambers out too (shuts the door more gently, because really, this car is old, and he cannot afford to replace a thing right now), and rounds the other side of the car, just in time to catch Sirius as he vomits all over the grassy verge. Sirius’ knees buckle, and he falls against Remus, crying in earnest.

“They’re my parents-“ he says through gasping sobs, “they’re my parents and they fucking-“

“I know, I know,” Remus tightens his grip, pulling Sirius in to a hug. It’s a little tricky, given Sirius’ height, but they settle on the ground in between the car and the spattered vomit. Sirius presses his face in to Remus’ soft stomach, and Remus runs his fingers through Sirius’ hair in what he hopes is a soothing manner. He’s so afraid of fucking this up – he wants to ring James and ask him what to say, he wants to gather Sirius in his arms and never let anything hurt him again. His heart is throbbing with concern and anger and sadness, but he can’t put all of these feelings in to words, so he just holds Sirius tighter, and lets him cry himself out on the roadside.

Remus has gone almost entirely numb before Sirius speaks again – it’s deceptively cold, despite being a July night – but he’s more concerned about Sirius in just a t-shirt than himself, so it’s a relief when Sirius finally mumbles:

“Can you drive?”

“Of course,” Remus replies immediately, and the two of them shakily stand up.

Remus settles in to the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and headrest to accommodate for his shorter frame. Beside him, Sirius puts his seatbelt on, and then hesitantly reaches for Remus’ free hand, intertwining their fingers. He rests his head against the window, avoiding eye contact, and Remus takes that as his cue to set off. The handholding makes it a little awkward to drive, but he doesn’t let go, and they drive in a thoughtful silence for a while.

Eventually, Sirius reaches over to the console, and turns the radio on, fiddling with the dial until the static fades in to music. He leans back in his seat, and he doesn’t sing along, doesn’t even hum, but it’s okay.

He’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback makes me so happy!  
> Hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel)!  
> Take care & love always xoxo


	2. "It reminded me of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for references to anxiety, unspecified mental illness & panic attacks & terrible parenting.

  1. “It reminded me of you.”



It’s been eight weeks since everything changed, and Sirius had left his childhood home forever. Seven weeks since he’d stopped crashing at Remus’ too-small, too-dark, too-damp flat, and had moved in with James and Lily, disrupting their careful balance between work, wedding preparations and domestic bliss. ( _You’re not a burden,_ he reminds himself of James’ almost daily words in response to Sirius’ almost daily anxieties). Five weeks since Frank had been an actual real-life angel and gotten him a job as a barista at his café, _The Marauder Corner,_ so that he wouldn’t have to rely on his Uncle Alphard’s inheritance.

As far as adjustments go, it’s by far the biggest and most difficult thing he’s ever had to do. It’s huge and overwhelming and too much, and even though he’s happier than he’s ever been in some ways, in others he knows that he’s constantly a few harsh words away from a breakdown. His friends have been _wonderful_ in supporting him through his nightmares, the anxiety attacks, the panic attacks, the way he can’t help but cringe a little when they raise their voice – even in jest – but it’s not enough.

(He feels like the worst person in the world for thinking that, because honestly he is so blessed in his friendships, and he _knows_ this, knows that they love and cherish him more than he’ll ever know, and certainly more than he deserves, but he also knows that none of them can ever hope to understand the enormity of everything he’s been through, and how much of a daily struggle it is to adjust to this new life).

Still. Today was mostly positive – he only had a small barely-there panic attack at work, and it was manageable enough that he could excuse himself briefly to deal with it, and he had slept well enough that he didn’t wake up feeling drained like he does some mornings. He’s been looking forward to this evening all week – Thursday nights are reserved for meeting up at Peter’s for a film night (he has the biggest DVD collection out of all of them), and everyone’s going to be there – well, almost everyone.

Remus won’t be there, and that makes Sirius’ heart feel a little sad and empty – he hasn’t seen Remus in several weeks now, and though they’ve been texting almost every day, it’s just not the same. He misses the other man’s warm and comforting smiles, the way he can tuck himself against Remus’ soft sides and feel _safe,_ the sound of his laughter – all of it.

But at the same time, he knows _he’s_ responsible for Remus’ absence – in spite of Remus’ protestations that really a flare was coming anyway, that he doesn’t blame Sirius in the slightest, that he would much rather Sirius was safe and happy, Sirius feels awful about the fact that the flare had hit only days after Remus had come to rescue him. He’d pushed himself too hard that night – the combination of stress and exhaustion causing his fibromyalgia to suddenly worsen, and Sirius feels _awful_ about it.

It’s not guilt that’s driving him to see Remus this evening before the meetup though, it’s just because he misses Remus, and he can tell from Remus’ messages that he misses them all too, and is gutted he’s not feeling up to big gatherings yet.

He stops off at Remus’ favourite bakery to pick up some of the pain au chocolats that he swears are the best in town, and he’s only ten minutes away from Remus’ flat, when he realises he should probably warn Remus he’s on his way, in case he’s really not up to seeing _anybody._

So, it’s as he’s paused next to a nondescript apartment block to text Remus, that he hears it - a sound like a whimper, but smaller. For a second he waits, but it doesn’t sound again, and he’s beginning to think he’s imagined it, when he hears it-

Whirling around, he squints in to the alleyway, where the block’s bins are stored. He’s certain it’s coming from that direction, and so he ducks in to the alley, a little apprehensive, but more concerned and curious.

At first, he can’t see anything that could have made that noise – there are just bins of all shapes and sizes and colours, overflowing with junk, more of which spills on to the ground every time the wind blows. The walls are stained in colours that Sirius doesn’t want to think too hard about, and it smells awful – he’s about to leave, when he hears it _again_ , and this time, it’s easy to spot the cardboard box next to the bins.

Hurrying over to it, Sirius crouches in the food wrappers and takeout containers with a disgusted expression, and flips the top open. Inside is a tiny, ginger and white kitten, its blue eyes staring up at him in distress. It makes another pitiful whimper, and Sirius’ heart is _bleeding_ , right there amidst all the trash; this tiny kitten has torn his heart in half, and he is going to protect it with everything he has.

He carefully lifts this tiny bundle of fluff in to his arms, his chest tight and aching, because _why do people abandon their pets? ~~Why do they abandon their children?~~ _ This adorable, innocent creature hasn’t done a thing wrong – isn’t old enough to have done anything wrong, it deserves so much better than this. _He_ will see to it that this kitten gets everything it deserves and more.

But –

Ah.

What’s he going to do with a kitten? He can’t take it back to James and Lily’s – James is terribly allergic to cats, and, as accommodating as they’ve been, he knows that returning home with a kitten is a step too far, even for them. Alice, Frank and Kingsley’s landlord has a strict no pet policy, even though Frank is _desperate_ for rabbits. And Peter has a huge, black dog that they all love, but it chases cats and barks loudly, and Sirius’ chest clenches at the thought of how terrifying that would be for this tiny kitten.

Remus, though….

The kitten sneezes suddenly, and Sirius' chest floods with the same warmth he feels when he’s around Remus, and he’s filled with a whole new affection. Remus _has_ to have this cat: it’s got a similar colouring to him, they’re both Too Cute for words, and Sirius adores them both – it’s perfect.

Remus will know what to do, even if he can’t keep it. And so, Sirius tucks the kitten in to the front pocket of his workbag, its little head poking out in confusion, and sets off confidently.

*~*~*~*

He’s less confident when he’s standing in front of Remus’ door with the kitten in his arms, but he doesn’t have time to work himself up about it, before Remus has opened the door.

Sirius has three seconds to take in the lovely sight of Remus with messy hair, glasses, looking tired but happy to see him, before Remus’ gaze falls to the kitten, and his smile fades.

“Padfoot, _no_.”

“Padfoot, yes?” Sirius tries.

“ _No._ ”

“Moony, please, I can explain-“

Remus shakes his head, but walks away from the door, which Sirius takes as his invitation to come in, using his foot to nudge the door shut as he does so. (The lock is broken, he notices, which makes him frown, but he’ll get back to that later).

“Go on then,” says Remus, sounding exasperated as he leans against the back of his sofa. For a horrible second, Sirius’ anxiety mutters that Remus is pissed off with him and hates him and that he’s fucked everything up – but then he spots the amused twinkle in Remus’ eyes, and he knows it’s going to be alright.

So he explains how he’d found the kitten, how he couldn’t just leave it there, how none of the others can look after it – “ _please Moony, you’re my only hope!_ ” – and Remus looks less and less exasperated, and more and more regretful, the longer he goes on.

When Sirius has finally run out of things to sway Remus, Remus sighs. “As much as I want to, I really _can’t_ afford to look after a cat right now, Sirius. Money’s tight as it is-“

“I’ll pay for it!” Sirius blurts, and when Remus' lips purse – Remus _hates_ feeling like a charity case – he hastily continues, “it’s only fair since I’m forcing it on you. I’ve got Uncle Alphard and I have a job now – I’ll cover the costs.”

Remus sighs again, this time a little wistfully. “What about when I’m dealing with flares? Or when I can’t get out of bed?”

“I’ll help you. I swear I’ll be there whenever you need it.”

The kitten jumps out of Sirius’ arms, and stumbles a little unsteadily over to Remus, winding around his legs and purring. Sirius can practically _see_ Remus’ walls crumbling, as it rubs against him, and he stiffly kneels down to pet it.

“It’s a her,” he says after a moment, not looking at Sirius. “She must be a few weeks old if she’s able to walk and everything.”

“ _Please_ , Moony,” Sirius says softly. “Someone abandoned her, and I – I know how that feels, please.”

Remus looks up at him sharply. “Oh Sirius,” he murmurs. “Come here,” he holds out an arm, and Sirius obligingly sits down next to him. “You know I’m going to keep her.”

Sirius’ heart swells in his chest. “Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you, Moony, you’re the best!” He hugs Remus gently, mindful that he might still be in pain, and the kitten clambers on to Remus’ lap too.

Remus laughs. “Why are we sat on the floor when there’s a perfectly good sofa behind us?”

“You tell me, you sat down first,” says Sirius, scrambling to his feet and helping Remus to his own. “Besides, that sofa has never been ‘perfectly good’ and you know it.”

Remus rolls his eyes, cradling the kitten in one arm, and heads towards the kitchen counter. “I’ll make us some tea.”

There’s a comfortable pause as Remus fills up the kettle, and Sirius takes a deep breath. “How have you been?” he asks carefully, watching the way Remus moves slowly around the kitchen. Remus hates being coddled, but Sirius hates seeing Remus in pain more – enough to risk his possible annoyance at the question.

Remus half-shrugs, leaning heavily against the counter, with the tiny kitten pressed in to his chest. “I’m getting there. Mostly just tired and achy now. But I’m taking care of myself, I swear.”

Sirius hesitates. “You know we’re all here for you if there’s _anything_ we can do. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Remus says quietly, turning to flick the kettle on, and Sirius senses that this conversation is over. He bites his lip as Remus reaches up for the teabags and winces sharply – he desperately wants to offer to help, but knows that Remus would _loathe_ that, and that forcing himself upon him would be a shitty thing to do.

Instead, he moves closer, and tickles the kitten’s chin as she pokes her head out from the crook of Remus’ arm. She lets out a mewling sound, blinking dopily, one eyelid after the other, and paws at his hand, and Remus chuckles. “She looks like she’s winking.” Sirius stares at the fond expression in Remus’ eyes, something akin to longing clenching in his stomach, and then focuses on what he said.

“That’s her name! Winky!”

“What kind of a name is that?” Remus says sceptically, but he’s grinning in the same way as he used to when James and Sirius were telling him about their next prank. Sirius loves that expression – sharp, clever and mischievous, so entirely _Remus_. “Here,” he passes the kitten to Sirius, who immediately nuzzles her against his cheek, whilst he makes tea for the two of them.

“You like that name, don’t you?” Sirius says to the kitten. He knows he’s using the kind of stupid voice adults adopt when talking to small children, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Winky. Yes, that’s you, yes it is-“

He realises Remus is watching, and his heart does something funny when he catches the warm expression on Remus’ face. “What?” he says, a little flustered.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously adorable, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He hands Sirius a mug, and the two of them head over to the dilapidated sofa. Sirius flops himself down carelessly, deliberately not watching the way Remus lowers himself in to the other seat with a grimace. As soon as he’s settled, Winky trots over to his lap and curls up in it, and Remus looks down with a happy smile.

“I can’t believe you got me a cat,” he says quietly, still beaming.

“It reminded me of you,” says Sirius, his voice soft and way too affectionate, and Remus turns his smile on him, and Sirius _melts._ Everything is warm and tingly, and the only thing stopping him from flinging himself at Remus for a cuddle is the thought of hurting him. “Can I hug you?” he says instead, feeling himself blush a little, even though they hug all the time and it’s not weird and Sirius loves hugs and _it’s not weird, okay?_

Remus nods, holding out one arm, which Sirius tucks himself under, curling in to Remus’ side. Winky opens one eye to gaze at him, before turning away disinterestedly. They sit like that together for a while – like some bizarre, mismatched family, and the thought makes Sirius’ chest warm.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says quietly.

Remus hums, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sirius buries his face in Remus’ shoulder. “I don’t wanna leave you,” he whines, “are you sure you don’t feel up to coming tonight?”

Remus looks down guiltily. “Sorry...”

“No, no, no,” Sirius says quickly. “Not your fault. I just miss being around you.”

Remus smiles a little sadly. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time without me though.”

Sirius frowns. “I’d have the best time if you were there too though.”

Remus makes a half-dismissive, half-disbelieving noise, and scratches Winky behind the ears. “You need to hold up on your end of the bargain, and go and get her some dinner,” he says, shifting reluctantly away from Sirius, and making to stand.

“Okay, okay,” Sirius stands and stretches. “Anything you need?”

“Nah, thanks,” Remus is already distracted by Winky, who’s rolled on to her back, and is purring at him as he strokes her gently.

Sirius suppresses a smile, and lets himself out of the flat. This is possibly the best idea he’s ever had. Remus on his own is adorable, but Remus with a kitten, all happy and glowing and smiley – absolutely wonderful.

(He comes back with enough food to last several weeks, and in every flavour Tesco had to offer – “I didn’t know her preferences, Moony!” – as well as a bed, litter tray, toys, and carrier, and pamphlets from the local vets about vaccinations and microchips and kitten development. And if he doesn’t end up going to the film night, and spends the evening cuddling with Remus and Winky instead? Well, who can blame him?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many tropes can I fit in to one fic?
> 
> Remus suffers from [Fibromyalgia](http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Fibromyalgia/Pages/Introduction.aspx) in this fic - a chronic illness that causes widespread pain all over the body. It more commonly affects women, but I have a male friend who suffers from this illness, and a lot of Remus' experiences in this are based on what I've learned from him. Obviously his experiences don't speak for everyone. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your response to the first chapter! Feedback makes me so so happy!  
> Hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel)!  
> Take care and love always xoxo


	3. "No, no, it's my treat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for detailed description of a panic attack, references to awful parenting, anxiety, brief mentions of insecurity regarding weight/weight issues.

  1. “No, no, it’s my treat.”



Two weeks later finds them all at the bar where Remus works – _The Leaky Cauldron_ is filthy, dingy, and has a dodgy reputation for letting underage people drink there, but the drinks are cheap and the music is good, and it’s where they’ve been meeting since sixth form. Remus has worked there for a good few years now, and the owner, known only as ‘Tom,’ trusts him enough that he turns a blind eye to Remus giving his mates free drinks and spending most of his shift at their end of the bar.

Remus is feeling a little better this week – at least in terms of pain, it’s reduced to his usual neck, back and shoulder aches, mild muscle stiffness, and a low-grade headache. He’s down on spoons, but he always is after a flare, especially since he’s got to catch up on the work he’s now behind on in both of his jobs. At least with the pub that just means picking up more shifts – at the publishing company, _Flourish and Blotts,_ he’s somehow got to squeeze a month’s worth of work in to the next fortnight. (He’ll figure it out, he always does, but he’s just bone-tired, and _so_ frustrated knowing that even getting a decent night’s sleep won’t help).

He wipes down the counter, where a regular’s drunkenly sloshing his beer around, and sighs when he realises who it is, feeling anxiety coiling in his stomach. “Mr Filch, I’m going to have to cut you off now,” he says, as politely as he can when he knows Filch is about to hurl abuse his way. His voice doesn’t tremble, even though he feels like a gust of wind would make him shatter.

Tom materialises at Remus’ shoulder, as Filch is spouting particularly creative profanities at him and he’s just _frozen_ , and claps a hand to his back. “Go’on now, lad. I’ll ‘andle this.”

Remus gratefully moves away from Filch, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. One would think that after years of working in retail and hospitality, he’d be better at dealing with unpleasant people by now, but every time it leaves him a little shaky and panicky inside. He moves back towards where his friends are, stopping only to refill a customer’s whiskey, and immediately meets Sirius’ eyes.

“Alright?” Sirius asks, glancing between him and Filch, concern clear in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Remus mumbles, _if he says it enough, it has to be true._

Sirius clearly doesn’t believe him, but he distracts him by asking about Winky, and before Remus knows it, the awful, cold anxiousness in his chest has been replaced by a warm, happy glow as he recounts how Winky shit _in_ her litter tray for the first time the night before, rather than around it. (Watching the way Sirius’ face shifts and catches the light makes him feel close to shattering too, but it’s different; it’s comfortable and safe and soft, knowing that Sirius could put him back together again).

Photos of Winky staring bemusedly at the scratching post Sirius had bought around at the weekend, of her curled up in Remus’ lap with him watching her like a proud parent, of her hiding in one of Sirius’ Doc Martens, circulate the group, which consists of Sirius and Remus, Lily and James, Kingsley, Alice and Frank. Peter turns up minutes later, and James holds a speedy sign-conversation with him to catch him up on everything he’s missed.

“Now that we’re all here,” James says, when they’ve all got drinks and Remus is on a short break (Lily takes over signing from James; Peter can lip-read well, but he prefers to sign, and he has no hope of hearing them over the sounds of a busy bar), “I’ve got an important announcement.”

He looks over at Lily, his gaze going soft and lovesick, the same way it has every time he’s looked at her, for the past seven years. “As you know, Lily and I are getting married next year.” There’s a brief pause as several of them make whooping noises, James leans over to press a kiss to Lily’s cheek, and Lily blushes pinker than Peter’s hair. The two of them share one of their secret telepathic glances, and then Lily takes a breath.

“Alice, I want you to be my bridesmaid. You’re so special to me-“

She’s abruptly cut off by Alice’s squawk, as she flings herself at Lily, chanting “yes, yes, yes.” The two of them collide in a cuddle, and they’re both laughing, Alice wiping tears from her eyes, and clutching her hijab so it stays in place.

James clears his throat. “And, this will probably come as a surprise to nobody, but,” he turns to Sirius. “Padfoot, I-“ his voice cracks a little, “Sirius. You’re my best mate, and the most important person in my life… Be my best man?”

Remus, along with everybody else, turns to Sirius expectantly. It’s not like any of them think that Sirius is going to turn him down after all; everybody knows how much Sirius and James love each other – it’s a bond that Remus struggles not to be jealous of – after all Sirius deserves only Good Things, and James is nothing but loving and giving in his friendships. (It’s still a little hard being an outsider though, what with how well Sirius slots in to James’ family, how they can hold entire conversations without saying a word).

But-

Sirius isn’t looking pleased, or touched, or anything at all. His face is fixed on James’, and Remus swears he’s not breathing as he stares at him, his fingers shaking, despite his grip on his glass. Then suddenly, without warning, he’s left his seat, streaking out of the door, and James makes to go after him, looking horrified.

Nobody says a word – James is frozen half out of his seat, staring after where Sirius had dashed off to, and even though the rest of the bar is still noisy with chatter, glasses clanking, and acoustic guitar, within their group it’s utterly silent.

“Well, that was awkward,” Peter says at last, a little loud and thick, but it breaks the tension, and spurs everyone in to movement once more.

“I should go after him,” mumbles James, sliding out of his seat, but Remus stops him.

“Let me, Prongs,” he says quietly, trying to avoid attracting everyone’s attention. James studies him briefly, then sighs and nods.

“Bring him back, Moony,” James murmurs softly, crushing Remus briefly to his chest, and then he propels him in the direction Sirius had run off in.

*~*~*~*

It’s not difficult to locate him. To his left, there’s a cluster of smokers, forced outside by their habit; to his right, the collection of tables full of people enjoying the late summer air. Sirius would have wanted to get away from people, and so Remus heads left, past the smokers, rounding the corner where they keep the bins, and sure enough-

Sirius is huddled against the wall, heaving for breath, his head between his knees. His whole body trembles, and even when Remus kneels down and takes one of his hands, he doesn’t react to the contact.  

“Padfoot,” Remus says softly, and Sirius’ head snaps up, but his eyes are glassy and leaking, like he’s not really seeing Remus. He’s straining for breath, shaking, crying, choking – and Remus snaps in to action. “Padfoot – _Padfoot_.” He presses his palm against Sirius’ face, trying to ignore the self-doubt that’s _screaming_ at him that James would be a thousand times better at this.

He pulls Sirius in to him, and Sirius goes, falling against his chest. He’s bizarrely tense and limp at the same time, and Remus begins taking exaggerated breaths, positioning himself so that Sirius’ ear is against his heart. (He’s painfully aware that his heart is pounding; he’s so afraid of fucking this up, Sirius is _everything,_ and Remus is _nothing-_ ). He counts under his breath, murmurs reassurances every now and then, rubs up and down Sirius’ limbs, and slowly – _slowly –_ he hears Sirius’ breathing start to regulate again.

“Moony –“ Sirius gasps out suddenly, and Remus jerks in surprise. “Moony, I can’t feel my fingers,” he says urgently.

Remus takes them, and begins massaging them between his hands. He knows it won’t do any good, but he also needs to feel useful in some way. “They’re still there, Pads, see? The feeling will come back, you know this doesn’t last forever.”

Sirius makes a whining noise, pressing his face in to Remus’ belly, his breathing turning a little erratic. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Remus’ heart lurches as he lets the term of endearment slip out, but thankfully Sirius doesn’t comment on it.

They sit quietly, next to the recycling bin. The noises of the pub are muffled from this side of the building, the clanking in the kitchen faint, and even the smell of cigarette smoke can’t reach them here. It’s their own private bubble, and Remus loses all track of time (Tom will be annoyed, his ‘short break’ is probably three times longer than it should have been). When Sirius eventually raises his head, wiping tear-streaked cheeks on the tissue Remus offers, he too seems loathe to disturb the silence. Instead he picks at Remus’ shirt – at where he’s snotted and dribbled and sobbed all over it, and when he finally speaks, he says, only a little shakily, “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus says, waving a hand at it. Sirius looks at him for a long moment, and then leans back in to the hug, and Remus wraps his arms around Sirius again. There’s a pause, and Remus feels a little sick with worry at what he has to ask next. “Um, Padfoot. What – what caused this? If you know – there doesn’t have to be a reason, you don’t have to tell me-“ He cuts himself off before he works himself in to a panic, and looks down at the top of Sirius’ head.

Sirius has tensed up in his arms, his hands clenching in to fists in Remus’ shirt. There’s a long pause – this one far less comfortable than before. Remus’ anxiety uncoils itself in his stomach, slithering up through his chest, his throat – _he’s ruined everything –_

“Prongs is-“ Sirius starts, then takes a deep shaky breath, swiping angrily at his eyes again. Remus swallows, choking the anxiety back down in order to give Sirius his full attention. He gives him a gentle squeeze, and Sirius restarts. “Prongs is my everything, and – his family are _my_ family. They -they – they m-mean s-s-s-s-so-“

“Breathe, sweetheart,” mumbles Remus, and Sirius obediently sucks in a noisy breath, releasing it too quickly.

“They’ve always looked after me, and took me in, even though they d-didn’t have to. They’ve been more of a family than my own were – I’m – Prongs is my best friend, and I know he loves Lily, and I love her too, and I just want him to be _happy_ , but if they get married, they’ll want to start a family, they’ll move out, and l-leave me, and _I can’t lose him,_ Moony – I can’t take it, I can’t let him leave me alone again-“ His voice cracks, and he lets out another sob, pressing his face against Remus’ chest. Remus can only tighten his grip, a painful lump in his throat because _he can’t fix this._ This is between James and Sirius, and Remus can’t do a thing to help.

( _Useless, pointless, waste of space-)_

“Padfoot, no, this isn’t – you aren’t going to lose him.” The words tumble out, inarticulate but heartfelt, because Remus would do _anything_ to make this right, anything to make sure that Sirius knows the truth. “Prongs _adores_ you – you’re the centre of his world, and he loves Lily, but he loves you too. I – just because he’s getting married, it doesn’t make you any less important in his life.”

Sirius shakes his head a little, but his tears have slowed, and he’s listening through his sobs.

Remus bites his lip, “have you told Prongs that this is how you feel?”

Sirius hesitates, then shakes his head, “I don’t know how to say – he’ll think I’m so _selfish –“_

“ _No_ ,” says Remus, surer now. “He will not, and you know it. You should tell him.” Sirius nods slowly, his breathing raggedy, but calmer. “And maybe talk to your therapist? I don’t-“ The uncertainty comes creeping back, but he ploughs on anyway. “I don’t want to tell you what to do. But _even if_ Prongs and Lily move out, even if things change, you won’t be alone. You’ve got all of us, for what it’s worth, you’ve got _me.”_

“It’s worth more than you know,” whispers Sirius, and the tears that have been lurking behind Remus’ eyes for the last hour finally spill over his lashes, as his heart clenches tightly. He laughs a little shakily, and shifts Sirius in to a different position on his lap. Sirius wipes his eyes again slowly, blows his nose, and then tries for a wobbly smile. Remus smiles back at him (of course he does, he always smiles back at Sirius, it’s an automatic reaction by now).

“And besides, you’ll make the best best man there ever was,” Remus says softly, and Sirius gives a watery chuckle.

“You know it.”

“Ready to head back in?”

Sirius reaches for Remus’ hand, lacing their fingers together, and takes a few deep breaths. “Give me a minute.”

“Sure,” Remus settles back against the wall, allowing Sirius to curl in to him once more. His shirt is sticky and damp and cool against his skin, clinging to his curves in what is surely an unattractive way. His muscles are aching and cramped from sitting on the ground for so long, and his eyes are itching with tiredness. But Sirius is okay – or at least he will be once he and James have communicated properly – and that’s what is important.

*~*~*~*

Sirius barely pauses as he bounds back towards the group. “What are we discussing?” he says, with more bravado than Remus knows he’s feeling, slinging one arm around James’ shoulders. James glances at him, and there’s a silent communication that they’ll discuss this later – _are you okay_ – _I’m sorry_ – _I love you and I’m worried about you_ , before they turn back to the group.

“Fuckin’ Faceswap and Snapchat filters. They never find my fuckin’ face, they’re made for fuckin’ white people,” Frank tell him.

“Preach,” James says, lifting his mocktail.

“And that one that makes you look ‘pretty,’” seethes Alice. “Aka, makes you look like a white person. It’s gross.”

Sirius pouts, his love for Snapchat is no secret – each of them wake up to at least four snaps of him with various filters on every day – but unfortunately, Remus doesn’t get to hear any more, because Tom claps a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away with a stern expression.

“I’m sorry – I can explain –“ Remus begins, the anxiety flooding back so quickly, he thinks he’ll be sick with it, but Tom cuts him off sharply.

“He alright?” he jerks his head at Sirius.

Remus nods slowly, and Tom studies him carefully. Remus breathes deeply, fighting the rising nausea. “Don’t do it again without telling me,” he says eventually, waving a hand to dismiss Remus, and Remus stares, feeling that awful combination of relief and adrenalin that always leaves him a bit shaky. Tom quirks an eyebrow at him. “Go’on, get out. Your shift’s over, you know?”

“Moony!” James is leaning over the bar, and he turns. “We’re heading out, you coming?”

Outside the pub, there’s the usual kerfuffle as everyone hugs everyone else, and it’s still a good twenty minutes before they all head their separate ways. Remus hangs back a little, chatting with Alice, and so he’s surprised when Sirius approaches him, not having left with James and Lily.

“So. Can I interest you in an ice cream?” Sirius asks with an almost self-conscious grin.

Remus laughs, “it’s almost one in the morning, Pads.”

Sirius loops his arm through Remus’, waving cheerily at Alice and Frank, and begins leading him away. “That never stopped us in uni, Moonbeam.”

“True,” Remus can’t fight the grin as he remembers the midnight runs to the local ice cream parlour every time an essay was being particularly troublesome, or when one of them was stressed or sad. Ice cream solved everything, and Remus can guess exactly why Sirius is craving it tonight.

“So, ice cream, yes?”

“I shouldn’t,” Remus says ruefully, sucking in his belly almost unconsciously, and crossing his arms over it. “I’m supposed to be on a diet.”

“What?! Since when?” Sirius looks appalled, and Remus wants to laugh at his defensiveness – he would if it didn’t mean the world, if didn’t warm the iciness of that particular insecurity.

“Since my doctor started nagging at me _again._ There’re all these studies that link obesity to fibro symptoms getting worse.”

Sirius frowns. “But you’re not obese. You’re just…”

“Overweight.”

“I was going to say chubby,” Sirius says, “and you are adorable and perfect the way you are-“

Remus rolls his eyes. “I don’t need the positive affirmation, Padfoot, you tell me regularly enough as it is.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Sirius sticks his tongue out at Remus, because he is an Actual Child, and says, “we’ll get fucking sorbets then. They’re low calorie.”

“Deal.”

(Sirius absolutely does not get a sorbet – he orders the double-chocolate-fudge ice cream sundae that he _knows_ Remus adores, watches Remus pick miserably at his raspberry sorbet for a few minutes – “ _why on Earth did you pick raspberry, you don’t even like raspberry?” –_ before he caves and steals Sirius’ ice cream. Remus can’t hide the toothy, child-like grin on his face at the familiarity of it all, at the comfort, and Sirius beams back at him, and everything is _wonderful_ ).

They talk and talk, and eat way more ice cream than they should, and stay up far too late for adults-who-have-work-in-the-morning, but Remus also never wants it to end. It’s like the university days when Sirius would come and drag Remus out of the library at goodness-knows-o-clock, and just chat to him to distract him from his crippling fear of failure. It’s comfortable and safe and warms Remus’ heart more than good central heating ever could.

When they finally leave, Sirius has an arm around Remus’ waist, and Remus knows that this is just how Sirius _is –_ he’s tactile and loving and gentle – but it feels like so much more, like something has shifted between them. He doesn’t remove his hand as they go to pay-

“No, no, it’s my treat,” Sirius gently pushes Remus’ handful of change out of the way, and produces his own cash. “This is my hard-earned dollar, and I talked you in to this.”

“’Dollar?’” snorts Remus, focusing on Sirius’ dorkiness so that he doesn’t have to think about how close this is to a date, how much they’re blurring that line-

“I am _hip,_ Remus, I know all the lingo,” Sirius says proudly, keeping a straight face for all of three seconds before he laughs.

There’s a lightness in Remus’ chest as he leaves Sirius at the halfway point between their houses – it’s a lightness that is so rare these days, but it fills his entire body, a warm glow resting in his heart. And Remus knows that this cannot last – Sirius is not meant for him, he is worth _so much more_ , but _shit,_ he is going to enjoy it whilst he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit shit and choppy – I’m moving to France tomorrow lmao. Next update could potentially take a while bc I have to settle and everything, you know~
> 
> The whole gang is here! (Well, almost all of them – Marlene works abroad, which is why she’s not in the pub with them, but she’ll rock up later, and other characters like Regulus will turn up too!) I have a squillion hcs for these characters – in this fic, Frank and Kingsley are black, James is Indian and Alice is Syrian – hence the issues with Snapchat filters (it’s true and it’s gross). Also Peter is Hard of Hearing and uses British Sign Language, in case that wasn’t clear. Remus’ issues/insecurities with his weight will be addressed in later chapters, but this is a body positive fic, and chubby!Remus is special to me, so no hate.
> 
> If y’all have any questions, or requests for things you’d like to see for later ‘I love you’s, then let me know – I’m open to suggestions, and I don’t have them all planned out yet, so I’ll see what I can do! Hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!
> 
> Thank you so much for your lovely feedback, it means the world!  
> Love always & take care xoxo


	4. "Come here, let me fix it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for anxiety, terrible parenting, and mention of vomit (no actual vomit though).
> 
> Regarding potential angst, because I've had a few comments and asks about this, this fic will NOT end badly. There will be no major character death, Remus/Sirius is endgame, for every hurt (and there will be a fair bit of hurt), there will be copious amounts of comfort, because I'm incapable of not giving these two the happy ending they deserve. If you want anything more specific, feel free to message me on tumblr or twitter, and we can chat about what's coming up.

There isn’t a single part of Sirius’ body that isn’t trembling, and he keeps forgetting to breathe – then concentrating too hard on it, then panicking and forgetting once more. He’s pale and sweating through his suit, and he _knows_ that checking his watch every four seconds is helping nothing, but there’re only two hours to go – or one hundred and twenty-one minutes, or seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-sixty-seconds, seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-nine-seconds, seven-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-eight-seconds-

In approximately two hours, Sirius has the biggest job interview of his life, and he doesn’t mean to be melodramatic, but he literally doesn’t know how he’s going to survive until then ( _how fast does your heart have to beat before it gives out?_ ). Which is why Remus – wonderful, supportive, _kind_ Remus – is going to come and keep him distracted until then, because otherwise he will actually have a heart attack, and keel over right here in this bustling street, and wouldn’t that just be a tragedy?

Remus is late, which isn’t unusual for him, but with every extra second on his own, Sirius can feel himself slipping further and further towards a panic attack because _fuck, why does he think he can do this?_

(He can’t – his parents were right, his teachers were right, he’s not good enough, he’s never going to be good enough-)

The thing is – this interview is kind of a Big Deal. It’s not that he doesn’t like working at _The Marauder Corner_ – he does, and he’ll be eternally grateful to Frank for supporting him. He finally feels like he knows what he’s doing now, and he hasn’t screwed up an order in three ( _three!_ ) days. He’s figured out how to smile for tips, who the nicest regulars are, and he’s starting to feel _safe_ there – he’s _comfortable._ But… in the meantime, he has a hard-won First Class Bachelor’s Degree in Illustration  & Graphic Design going to waste, and after everything he went through with his parents to be allowed to study it, with his mental health to actually _complete_ it, it’s driving him a little bit crazy that he’s not doing anything with it.

It’s not that he hasn’t been on the hunt for jobs; it’s more that freelance illustration is hard to get in to, it’s hard to find regular clients, it’s hard to make a decent living, and for once in his life, Sirius just wanted _one_ thing to be easy.

But this interview could change all of that. _Queerllustration_ is a small company, who produce web comics for both educational and entertainment purposes, and they’re currently looking for a new, full-time Graphic Designer. As the name suggests, they make art about LGBT+ people, created by LGBT+ people, _for_ LGBT+ people, and Sirius has been in love with their work since he first stumbled across their nonbinary superhero character, Eclipse. Working for them would be the absolute _dream_ – he just has to convince them he’s _good enough._

(Which is going to be difficult, considering he can’t even convince himself).

“Hey, you,” the voice is warm and gentle, and the touch on his arm is light, but Sirius still flinches sharply, and Remus withdraws immediately. He looks breathless and tired, but he’s smiling brightly at him, even if his eyes are a little crinkled in concern.

_(Six thousand, six hundred seconds to go)._

“Alright?” He tries for a confident smile, burying his face in Remus’ shoulder briefly as he pulls him in for a hug, but his insides are still _liquid._

“Have you eaten yet?” Remus asks, still not quite releasing him (probably for the best – Sirius’ knees have forgotten how not to shake, which is making standing a Problem), and peering inside the café.

Sirius is torn – if he says no, Remus will make him eat something, and then he might be sick – _what if he vomits all over the interviewers??? –_ but if he says yes, he’ll be lying to Remus. The thought of lying to him, even over something so trivial, makes him feel just as nauseous as eating will. In the end though, he doesn’t have to choose, because Remus knows him well enough to mutter, “no then,” whilst steering him gently towards the door.

It’s a mark of how anxious he’s getting, that Sirius doesn’t even register Remus sitting him down at a table, queuing, ordering and paying – and Sirius _notices_ things, his anxiety won’t let him not document every tiny detail of a situation, to the extent that it’s overwhelming and too much, but now, he’s losing entire pockets of time, and he’s _terrified._

There’s a large pumpkin spice latte sitting in front of him, and moments later, a tomato and mozzarella panini slides across to join it. Remus slips in to the seat opposite with his own food, and Sirius tries to smile his thanks – his heart tugs a little at the fact that Remus knows him so well – but it comes out as more of a grimace.

He clears his throat, hand clenching the table leg to give him something to ground himself on, and mumbles, “thanks, Moony.” Remus gives him a thumbs-up, his own mouth already full with an egg salad sandwich, and Sirius seizes on this detail, this normalcy. “I thought you didn’t like the egg sandwiches here?”

Remus swallows with difficulty, and shrugs. “S’alright. There aren’t many kosher options, this is fine.” Sirius nods absently, and shifts his grip from the table leg to around his mug – it’s a little too hot to hold, but the burn helps him to concentrate. Remus tracks this movement with a frown, and then continues, “anyway, we’re not here to talk egg sandwiches. How are you doing?”

Sirius forces himself to take a sip of his latte, eyes closing briefly in pleasure at its warm sweetness. ( _If Remus were a drink, he’d be a pumpkin spice latte_ , he thinks vaguely, then catches himself and nearly chokes on his drink). “I’m – uh – okay?” he says, and Remus rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no, try again.”

“I’m – I’m not. Uh. Okay,” Sirius whispers to his panini, and Remus’ fingers hover momentarily above Sirius’ wrist, giving him time to pull away, before gently closing around it. Sirius pulls his gaze up to meet Remus’ eyes, and kind of wants to burst in to tears at the sheer concern and care he sees there. He’s clenching his drink so tightly that his knuckles are white but his fingers are _still fucking shaking_.

“Would talking about it help?” Remus asks softly. “Or do you need to be distracted?”

Sirius shakes his head helplessly, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t- “

“Breathe, Pads,” Remus slides his hand down to Sirius’, where it’s clamped around the mug, and unpeels his fingers slowly, intertwining their fingers together. Sirius gazes at their hands for a second – he’s lost and scared and shaking, but he’s also anchored to Remus – Remus isn’t going to let him get hurt.

Sirius lets out a shaky breath, and takes another sip of his drink, swallowing down the anxiety for a moment. “Can you – I don’t – can we talk about something else for a bit?”

“Anything,” Remus squeezes his hand, then lets go, and Sirius instantly misses his warm grip. His fingers scrabble for something to fiddle with, land on his panini, and begin tearing it in to strips. Remus glances at him, but doesn’t try and stop him. “So, did you talk to Prongs and Lils after last week?”

Sirius pulls a face. “Sticking with the difficult conversations, are we?”

Remus shrugs, biting in to his sandwich. “You tell me.”

“I did, yeah.” The bread is thoroughly shredded now, and Sirius absent-mindedly begins separating the ingredients in to different piles. “He cried, I cried, everyone cried.”

Remus snorts, but not unkindly. “I think I’d be more worried if Prongs didn’t cry, to be honest.”

Sirius lets out a huff that ordinarily would have been a laugh. “It went like you said it would. He – he was really upset I ever thought they wouldn’t want me around. Said I’m – uh –“ his voice cracks a little. “More special to him than I’d ever know.” He flaps his hand, unable to vocalise everything the conversation had mended in him – that it had filled in cracks in his heart that he hadn’t even realised were forming. Of course, it won’t last – his anxiety will be back again soon enough, worming its way in to his weak spots. But for now, at least, he knows that James loves him unconditionally and would never want him to leave.

(It doesn’t hurt that James has doubled his number of daily reassurances, and started leaving him little post-it notes saying _you’re so loved_ all over the place).

“I’m really glad,” says Remus, bringing him back to the present. The anxiety surges back in an unpleasant wave and he takes a breath, desperately looking for another distraction.

“I got a message from Reg on Facebook,” he blurts suddenly – then regrets it, because he’s not ready to unpack that yet at _all_ , but nor is he ready to tackle the topic of the interview.

Remus looks momentarily bewildered at the abrupt subject change, but then raises his eyebrows curiously.

Sirius looks down at the heaps of separated food in panic, and stuffs the bread in to his mouth so that he has time to think. He swallows with difficulty, and says, “he was just checking in, I think. I haven’t read it properly. I – uh – he wanted to know that I wasn’t homeless, I think.”

“That’s… good?” says Remus cautiously.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, only it comes out with too much forced-cheerfulness, and they both wince. “I mean – I think so. Part of me, this is going to sound insane, but… what if my parents are using him to find me?” He glances at Remus’ expression, expecting to see scorn or disdain, but Remus just looks thoughtful.

“I don’t think Reg would do that to you. Maybe he never stood up to your family, but I don’t think he would actually turn on you like that.”

Sirius blinks a little, feeling a lump in his throat and a prickling behind his eyes. “Thank you for not telling me I’m being paranoid… I – thank you.”

Remus nods, still looking thoughtful, and there’s a comfortable quiet as Remus finishes off the rest of his sandwich, whilst Sirius chews through the pile of bread, and makes a start on the tomato slices.

Then –

“So,” Remus says, glancing at his wrist. “You have an hour to go.”

Sirius jolts, the panic racing back down his arms, his legs, through his fingers and toes, and paralysing him in an icy chokehold. He forces a breath in before he completely freaks out, and another, fingers clenching the table _hard_. Remus’ hands find his own, wrapping around them in a comforting grip. “Sorry, I – I just thought we could maybe talk about the interview? If that might help?”

“Give me a sec,” Sirius manages, and Remus immediately removes his hands, retreating apologetically. Sirius wants to _scream_ because _that’s not what he meant_ , but words are too hard at the moment. They sit in silence for a few minutes whilst Sirius tries to _get his fucking shit together,_ and then Remus leans forwards again nervously.

“We don’t have to, Pads,” he says quietly. “It was just a suggestion, we can-“

“Can you – uh – “ Sirius scrubs at his face. “Can you, like, look at my portfolio? I’m not asking for like – _praise_ – I’m not trying to be modest – I just – all I can hear is my dad screaming at me that I’m not enough and ripping up my art -and I – I just need- “

“Padfoot, I’d love to see your art. Anything you want to show me.” Remus brushes a reassuring thumb over the back of Sirius’ hand, and reaches for the portfolio leaning against his satchel.

Sirius watches Remus open the folder, but then looks away quickly, unable to watch Remus’ expression change. Objectively, he knows that it’s _good_ – he didn’t get a first for nothing, he knows that the bold colouring, the quirky characters, the attention to detail – it’s all _good, he_ is _good_. But is he good _enough_? And what if it’s too similar to the stuff they already do? He took inspiration from _Queerllustration_ for his final project after all; they might decide he’s just an overenthusiastic fan with no real creative talent of his own. He tries his best to shove down the voice that sounds a lot like his father’s, and picks at the remaining tomato seeds, feeling like he’s awaiting a criminal sentence.

Remus lets out a little gasp, and Sirius can’t help but look up sharply. Remus’ expression is – a myriad of things: warmth, awe, surprise, delight – and he leans over the pages to look closer, shoving his glasses further up his nose. He’s stopped on a city scape scene – it’s London by night, the silhouette of a caped and masked figure standing clearly against the night sky, and Remus is currently tracing the tiny shimmering stars, with his mouth in a little ‘o’ shape. He glances up, catches Sirius’ eye, and shakes his head disbelievingly. “Every time I think you can’t get any better, you blow me away, Pads." He runs a finger over the tiny details of the golden streetlights, the miniscule red buses, the shadowy skyscrapers with their hundreds of minute windows, and looks back up with a beam. “This is stunning. And-“ he flips back a few pages, to a watercolour of a collection of animals. (Watercolour isn’t his strongest medium, but he was particularly proud of how these turned out – the gentler shades allowed for a dappled light effect – and besides, it was important to show he could be diverse). “I _love_ this, it feels so… familiar in a way? It’s just so lovely, I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I think this is one of my favourites.” He reverently presses his fingertips against where the wolf and the black dog are touching snouts, at the way the rat is scampering up the buck’s back.

(Sirius can’t quite explain what Remus’ words are doing to him. It’s almost like he’s being punched in the gut, but with a warmth and an affection so strong that it takes his breath away, something soft and fragile blooming in his chest and pressing back against the panic nestling in his lungs).

“Do you mean that?” he croaks out at last, whilst Remus continues to pore through his artwork – the costume designs, the portraits, the fight scene – with occasional exclamations of admiration.

Remus looks up, his expression earnest and kind. “Of course, Pads. I don’t – you’re so _talented._ I just – you’re phenomenal, and I mean – I don’t know anything about art,” he smiles a little self-deprecatingly, “but I know that _Queerllustration_ are fools if they don’t hire you.”

Something akin to relief sparks in Sirius’ heart, and it’s not enough to quench the anxiety still resting there ( _nothing is ever enough_ ), but it loosens its grip a little, it plants a brittle seed of hope there, and Sirius can smile without feeling like he’s about to shatter. He idly pops a mozzarella slice in to his mouth from the small, final heap of food, and returns Remus’ grin as best as he can.

“Thank you,” he says softly, wishing he could convey exactly how much Remus’ reassurances mean to him, how much _Remus_ means to him. (It’s not like James and Lily and every single one of his friends haven’t offered their own reassurances, of course they have. It’s just that there’s something about Remus’ compassionate smile, his kind honesty, his general _Remus_ -ness that makes Sirius feel like he could accomplish almost anything).

“Of course,” Remus says, giving him a look that’s so full of care and warmth that Sirius can actually _feel_ the glow it bathes him in. He bites his lip, and then says, “can I ask – what is it that you’re most afraid of? Like, I completely understand why you’re anxious – I just – what – argh,” he flaps his hands in frustration, “I’m fucking this up.”

“You’re not,” says Sirius quickly. “I get what you’re trying to say.” Remus looks relieved, as Sirius chews on his mozzarella thoughtfully. “I think the thing is that if - if I – uh – if I fuck this interview up, I – _everything_ my parents ever said about me is-“

“Still all filthy, _awful_ lies,” says Remus fiercely. “ _Nothing_ they have ever said about you is true, _none_ of it, Padfoot, I swear it.”

The protectiveness causes the little seed of hope in his chest to swell, and he finds himself blinking back tears again. (Remus is a better friend than he deserves – better than anyone deserves).

“Did you talk to your therapist?” Remus says, more gently.

Sirius looks down, feeling the guilt drop in to his stomach like a stone.

“Hey, no, it’s okay if you didn’t. I was just asking.”

“Please don’t hate me,” Sirius begins.

“ _Never_ ,” says Remus vehemently.

“- I, uh, I maybe haven’t been to therapy in three weeks?” He’s too ashamed to meet Remus’ eyes – whilst he hasn’t lied _directly_ to any of them, he’s been feeling awful about this ever since the first time he got to the office and couldn’t face walking through the door. He’s been longing to tell someone honestly – but they’ve slowly stopped asking and checking up on his sessions, trusting him enough to _be a fucking adult_ and get the help he needs. But they didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, and it went on and on, and every time he missed it, he got more and more anxious about going back-

“I don’t – what happened?” Remus doesn’t sound angry, or shocked, or annoyed. Just concerned and a little confused, and it’s the care that gives Sirius the courage to look up at him again.

He shrugs, “the sessions were kind of helpful… but I got so nervous about going, and then one week, I just _couldn’t_ go. And then it sort of… spiralled?”

Remus’ face is kind and understanding. “I get it,” he clears his throat. “I did a similar thing a couple years back. Things were fine until bam, suddenly they weren’t, and I just went straight back home to bed without going to my appointment, and I couldn’t bring myself to get out again.”

(Remus _gets_ it. He actually gets it – and as much as Sirius loathes the idea of Remus suffering in any kind of way – physically, mentally, emotionally, whatever – the fact that he gets it and he understands makes Sirius feel less alone, less ashamed, less like a fuckup).

“What did you do?” Sirius asks, because he vaguely remembers this, but Remus used to struggle far more frequently than he does now, and he knows that as a group, they handled some of them better than others.

“Some pretty great friends told me that I didn’t have to stick with that therapist if it wasn’t the right fit. That there were other options. That they would still love and support me, no matter what.” His voice wobbles a little, but he looks determined. “The point is, the same applies here. You can try someone else if you like. Or look in to other treatments – maybe your meds need adjusting? But whatever happens, we all love and support you, and – uh – I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us before.”

“It wasn’t that,” says Sirius hastily, “it was more that I was just embarrassed I couldn’t function like an adult. Like – you all have real jobs, and you all manage everything, and have your shit together, and I’m just a hot mess-“

“I _promise_ you, we don’t have our shit together,” says Remus. “Yesterday I cried because I couldn’t pick which pair of socks to wear. Alice rang me to tell me she ate a share bag of Skittles in one sitting and was freaking out in case they weren’t halal. Wormtail has reapplied for uni four separate times. None of us have our shit together, if that helps.”

Sirius grins in spite of himself because _fuck_ he adores his ridiculous, crazy, _wonderful_ friends. Remus continues, “we could have been better though. So I’m sorry, and we’re all here for you for whatever you need.”

“Ditto,” Sirius says softly, nudging Remus’ ankle with his own, and Remus’ gaze drops, his shoulders tensing. Sirius frowns, “you know that, right?”

Remus doesn’t meet Sirius’ eyes as he says, “yeah sure,” and then gets up to return their plates to the counter. Sirius frowns after him, making a mental note to _actually have an honest conversation with Remus about his mental health_ , but then checks his watch and _blanches_ because he has twelve-hundred-seconds, eleven-hundred-and-ninety-nine-seconds-

“Come on,” Remus is back, and pulling him to his feet, and Sirius goes in a sort of daze. He _does_ feel better than he did before; he’s not losing pockets of time anymore, and the food sitting in his stomach is a weight that keeps him somewhat grounded – though not as much as Remus’ hand around his wrist.

It’s slightly better when they get outside – the light breeze coupled with Remus’ nattering soothes his frayed nerves a little, and he takes a few deep breaths, fragile but not shattering, the hope in his heart holding him together. The short walk goes by too fast, and before he knows what’s happening, the two of them are standing outside a building covered in rainbow art.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” says Remus, pulling him in for one final hug, allowing Sirius to cling a little longer than usual. “You’ve got this, we love you, you’re amazing.”

Sirius nods. “I’m amazing,” he repeats, and Remus bursts in to laughter.

“Damn straight you are!”

“Take that back! There’s nothing straight about me!” Sirius says, in mock-affront.

“I apologise,” says Remus solemnly, and Sirius beams back – his head is spinning with how much he adores this man; there are very few people in the world who can momentarily make him forget his troubles like that, who can build him up with compliments and smiles, but Remus is one of them.

“I’ll call you later?” he says, making to walk in through the door.

“Wait,” Remus calls, and Sirius turns back to him. “Come here, let me fix it.” He gestures at Sirius’ tie, and Sirius flushes, but allows Remus to retie it, straighten the knot, and tuck it back in to his jacket. “Very handsome,” he says with a cheeky, dimpled grin, and Sirius sort of _melts._ “And you’d better call.”

“I will,” Sirius promises, and then strides in to the building, before the anxiety can do so much as _hiss_ that he’s going to let them all down.

*~*~*~*

Three hours later, Sirius is on the evening shift at the _Marauder Corner,_ when he gets a call from an unknown number. He smiles apologetically at Frank, who rolls his eyes but lets him slip in to the kitchens, and he answers breathlessly.

(The conversation that ensues is brief but it’s enough – it’s more than enough – it’s _everything_ ).

The job is his.

 _(He did it, he actually did it, fuck his parents, fuck his teachers, he_ is _amazing)._

He manages to splutter his acceptance, his gratitude and hangs up, then cries so hard he almost makes himself sick, and rings Remus, who sounds all sorts of _choked-up-proud-love-care-happiness_. When he finally gets home, having spent the rest of his shift in an overjoyed daze, making clumsy mistakes and spilling sugar and coffee grains everywhere, it’s to a surprise party, and he is _overwhelmed_ with happiness and love and warmth.

James shouts out a quick warning before he tackles him to the ground in a hug. Alice, queen of baking forever and ever, has made him a gorgeous rainbow cake, topped with smarties. Peter gives him a flower crown, which Kingsley steals halfway through the night (“because I look so good in daisies, I should just wear them always”) and -

Remus waits until the excitable chaos has calmed down a little before approaching Sirius. “Hey, you,” he says, dropping in to the just-vacated seat next to Sirius. James has his head in Sirius’ lap, but he shuffles along, plopping in to Peter’s instead, and starting a sign conversation, complimenting Peter’s new violet hair.

“Hey, Moonbeam,” Sirius smiles back at him, leaning his head against Remus’ shoulder. Remus allows him to tuck himself against his side, slipping an arm around him.

“I know I said this before, but I’m _so bloody_ proud of you, Pads,” he says softly, and they’re both watching Frank and Lily dancing, but it’s somehow just as intense as if they were holding each other’s gaze.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sirius murmurs back, finding Remus’ hand, and squeezing it. Remus doesn’t move for a second, and then, very slowly and deliberately, he raises their intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a gentle kiss against their fingers.

Sirius doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, doesn’t move – doesn’t want anything to break this spell, because they are on the _verge_ of something, something is about to change between them –

But then there’s a smashing sound, and Kingsley is staring, wide-eyed, at the floor, looking guiltily at where he’s dropped a mug, which is now in pieces.

And the moment is lost.

Remus extricates his hand, and stands up without looking at Sirius. He walks over to James, who’s fretting a little trying to make sure nobody gets shards of china in their feet, and makes his excuses, claiming a stomach-ache and tiredness.

And Sirius just –

Watches him go.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry, didn't mean to leave it this long. Moved to France and things went Wrong. Anyway, I'm okay, and thank you for your well wishes, they mean so much!! <3
> 
> I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but if I have to stare at it any longer, I will scream.
> 
> If y’all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!
> 
> Thank you so so much for your lovely lovely support and feedback, y'all are angels <3  
> Love always & take care xoxo


	5. "I'll walk you home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of anxiety, mentions of depression, some real intense self-hate, a blink and you'll miss it reference to past self harm, THIS IS AN ANGSTY ONE pls take care.

Remus plops himself down in to an armchair, hissing slightly as his muscles shriek in protest. Alice grimaces sympathetically from where she’s curled in her own squishy chair, and Lily drops in to the final seat with a sigh.

She raises her mug of almond-milk hot chocolate, and clinks it against the others’. “The three spoonies ride again!” Alice lets out a little whoop, jingling her silver ‘I’m epileptic!’ bracelet, and Remus smiles behind his cup, unable to match their enthusiasm, because his stomach is _killing_ him. (His whole body is tender and fiery just beneath his skin, but the cramps are fierce and relentless. He surreptitiously cradles his hot mug against his belly; the heat that seeps through his shirt helps a little, but _not enough._ The chatter and buzz of the café are doing nothing to help his headache either, and he wants nothing more than to crawl in to his bed with a hot water bottle and stay there for the foreseeable future).

“How are y’all?” Lily asks, taking a huge bite of her Danish, and groaning around the mouthful. “This is fucking _delicious_.”

Alice shrugs a little. “Not terrible, الحمد الله. Haven’t tranced in like, a month?”

“That’s great,” murmurs Remus. “Did you get your meds adjusted?”

“Yeah, they’re better now, I’m less sleepy all the time. The weight gain’s a pain, but,” she pulls a face. “Every time I complain about it in front of my parents, I’m told that I should be grateful that they can even treat it, blah blah blah.”

Lily scoffs. “Spoken like a true Able.”

Alice makes a noise of agreement in her throat. “Anyway. How about you, Lils?”

Lily pulls a face, cramming the last of the pastry in to her mouth. “Had a bit of a flare last week. Also, J made his own ice cream – what a _nerd,_ can you believe he makes his own? – and _obviously_ , I couldn’t resist, and my UC did _not_ appreciate that at all. But this week: so far, so good.”

“It’s only Monday,” Remus points out.

“And I am trying very hard to be positive. What’s gotten in to you, Mr Grumpy Guts?” Lily retorts.

Remus flushes a little guiltily ( _selfish, selfish, selfish_ ). “Sorry… I’ve had this stomach ache for like four days, and everything _hurts._ I just – sorry.”

“Oh no, habibi, don’t do that,” Alice shakes her head, and Remus is momentarily distracted by the way her pink, glittery hijab sparkles under the warm, café lighting. “You’re absolutely allowed to be grumpy. Anyone would be.”

Lily nods in agreement. “We don’t have to apologise for our illnesses making us moody here, remember?” She stretches out a hand to Remus, and he smiles back at her, squeezing her fingers. “There’s something else the matter though,” she says, and her eyes narrow as she scrutinises him. “You look awful. And not in an _I-can’t-stand-up-straight-and-shower-because-everything-hurts_ sort of way.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“She’s right,” chimes in Alice, and somewhere, beneath the pain in his gut, Remus feels the stirrings of panic, and even further below that, the churning _shame-rejection-disappointment-sadness_ that he’s been suppressing for the last few days. “Uh oh, what’s that face?” She shuffles a little closer to him, laying a protective hand on his forearm. Remus takes a deep breath, staring down at his hot chocolate, and it trembles a little in his hands.

“I did something really fucking stupid.”

There’s a silence, and then Lily says – her voice low and urgent – “Remus, are we talking _I’m hurting myself again_ kind of stupid, or _I’m not taking my meds_ or – “

“ _No_!” Remus says quickly, _hating_ himself that these are even things that they have to worry about. “Nothing like that.” He feels Lily relax, and Alice lets out a barely-audible sigh, and the ball of self-loathing that wraps around his heart tightens a little more. “I… uh...” he runs a hand down his face, and whispers through his fingers, “I sort of kissed Sirius?”

“ _What_?” Alice yelps, and Lily jolts, going rigid once more. “I have so many questions. When? Where? Sort of? What??”

Remus can’t meet their eyes, as he lowers his shaky hands, and begins twisting them anxiously, pinching at the skin on his wrist. “At the party thing. Last week.”

There’s another pause as they digest this. “Sort of?” Alice repeats. “What does that even mean?”

He lets out a sigh, feeling the _guilt-shame-self-hatred_ writhing low in his belly, and a sharp pain twists through his stomach. (He deserved that, he deserves that and worse for fucking everything up. Sirius hasn’t texted or called in five days since _it_ happened, and the thought of seeing him again makes him feel dizzy and nauseous with nerves… though there’s a smaller part of him that isn’t sure why he’s making this such a Big Deal – it’s not like he hasn’t kissed Sirius before; Sirius is affectionate, and they’ve been friends for long enough that this shouldn’t be causing such turmoil).

“We were kind of just… sitting next to each other, and then he squeezed my hand, and just… didn’t let go? And then I kissed his hand?” He goes to hide his face once more, but Alice catches his arm and holds it fast.

“You kissed his hand? What is this, the 1600s?”

Remus is _burning_ – the pain in his stomach is a boiling, bubbling mess, the aching throughout his body sets his skin on fire, and now, the flush rises over his cheeks – hot, hot, hot with embarrassment.

“Lils, you’re being weirdly quiet,” Alice continues. “Any input?”

Lily has sat back in her chair, and is studying Remus, though not harshly. “This explains a lot,” she says eventually, and Remus’ already roiling stomach _lurches._

“What do you mean?” he asks, a little too desperate and raw. “Has he said anything?”

“No,” Lily says carefully. “But he doesn’t have to. He’s been in a kind of… daze? J and I thought it was because of the new job – anxiety, you know? But this explains it.”

“Shit,” Remus murmurs. “Shit, shit, shit.” He draws his legs to his chest, curling up as small as his aching body will allow. (He wants to drop off the face of the planet, or sink in to a deep, dark hole, or fade entirely from existence-)

“Stop spiralling,” Lily says sharply. “It’s not a bad sort of daze. That’s why it didn’t add up. He’s… happy, I think?”

Remus looks at her disbelievingly. “Please don’t lie to me to make me feel better. Not about this-“

“Look,” Alice cuts in. “What did he say when you did it?”

Remus swallows and looks down. “Nothing… it was just silence and then I ran and I’ve ruined _everything._ ” He buries his face in his knees, because he doesn’t have the courage to face either of them right now, and he especially doesn’t deserve their kindness.

“How have you ruined everything?” asks Lily calmly, and Remus snaps his head up incredulously.

“Are you kidding? Now he knows that I – that I – “

“Yes?” Alice says gently, when he tapers off.

“That I – _hngh_ , never mind,” Remus can feel a lump in his throat, and the words are trapped beneath it, unable to escape. The burning sensations throughout his body have reached the backs of his eyes, but he refuses to cry – he will not cry. ( _This_ is why this is a Big Deal – _this_ is what makes it different to any other time that Sirius has kissed him).

“Noooo, don’t do that.” Lily grabs his hand back, and strokes the back of it with her thumb reassuringly. “Go on.”

Remus wrenches his gaze to her face, and then feels an icy bucket of _dread-horror-panic_ tip over him because she _knew._ The tears spill over his cheeks before he can stop them. “You _knew_ ,” he mumbles, “ _shit_ , _shit_ , _shit,_ is it that obvious?”

“Is what obvious?” persists Alice, taking his other hand.

“That I _like_ Sirius!” Remus bursts out, and then shrinks in his seat as a couple of heads turn in his direction.

“Oh, praise the Lord!” Lily whispers, a smile splitting across her face.

“You finally admitted it!” Alice says, radiant with how wide she’s beaming.

Remus feels – _overwhelmed._ He’s _horrified_ that this secret that he’s kept so close to his heart for so long was apparently blindingly obvious, he’s _terrified_ by the implications of everyone knowing, he’s still a mess of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. The odd sense of relief at sharing this burden juxtaposes painfully with his utter _panic_ that he’s _shared this burden._ It’s been his secret (or apparently not a secret, but still), and only his, for as long as he can remember – for weeks, months, years even, a secret that’s outlasted every other crush he’s had on men, women, people _just_ as kind, brave, smart, funny, gorgeous as Sirius.

(Except that there’s nobody quite like Sirius – not many people are capable of making Remus feel so _good_ about himself just by being around them, not many people give him the confidence to feel like he can accomplish _anything_ he puts his mind to – not many people make him feel like enough, just as he is. But Sirius does).

He doesn’t know what to do with this tidal wave of conflicting emotions, and he tries to suck in a shaky breath, to combat the tears that are trickling down his cheeks, but it’s like he’s lost all control.

“Shh shh shh, you’re alright,” Lily’s gentle voice cuts through his meltdown, and he’s startled to find that she’s moved directly in front of him, and is pulling him in to an embrace. He buries his face in to her shoulder – disoriented, but agonisingly aware that he needs to _get a grip_ – and forces in a few calming breaths like his therapist has taught him. As Lily releases him, her face tense with concern, Alice presses a tissue in to fists that he didn’t realise were clenched.

“S-sorry,” he whispers, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, whilst still struggling with the whole even-breathing thing.

“We didn’t mean to push you,” Alice says, and Remus shakes his head a little too violently; it twinges sharply at the movement.

“It’s just been – a shitty week, and I’m loopy with the pain and – everything – I – _argh_ ,” Remus scrubs at his eyes, smearing the tears on his cheeks, and presses until he’s seeing stars. ( _Sirius is a star,_ his mind supplies unhelpfully, and he snaps his eyes open again). “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Yes,” says Lily, easing herself back in to her chair. “But we love you more than life itself. Now, we need to talk about this.”

“ _Whyyy?_ ” Remus whines, hiding his face again, “I’m fine just burying my head in the sand and pretending it never happened.”

“I think we just saw that’s not true,” Alice says quietly.

“Agreed,” says Lily, “so. What’s so bad about Sirius knowing that you have Feelings for him?”

“Because nothing can ever happen and so it will make our friendship super weird – it’s already making our friendship weird, and-“

“Why can nothing ever happen?”

“Because he’s – _everything,_ ” Remus waves his hand, unable to explain quite what Sirius _is –_ but knowing that Lily and Alice will understand anyway, because they adore Sirius just as much as he does. “And I’m-“ he gestures vaguely at himself, “ _this.”_

Alice slaps his arm – gently, obviously, because she’s thoughtful and good and Remus loves her _so_ much – and says sharply, “careful now. It sounded a lot like you were about to be down on yourself.”

Remus sighs, “I just mean that compared to him –“ Lily raises her eyebrows and Remus changes track sharply. “My life’s not going anywhere, and sometimes it feels like I have nothing going for _me_ , and I know that’s not true, and I’m working on it, but I can’t help it, and – I just – Sirius deserves _everything_.”

When he finally looks up, he’s not surprised to see Alice and Lily staring at him. What is surprising is the near unbearable sadness in their eyes.

Lily’s voice is heavy and a little tired, “one day, Remus, I swear to God, you will see yourself the way we all see you.”

“ _You_ deserve everything too,” Alice adds, the corners of her mouth tugging down uncharacteristically.

“Can we not?” Remus loves his friends – unquestionably, unshakeably; they are the best part of him, and he is frequently overwhelmed by the thought that these incredible, wonderful beings love him too. But sometimes it’s not a good overwhelming, and right now, he’s uncomfortable enough as it is, and any more of their unbounding affection, and he’s going to start crying again.

Lily makes a slightly frustrated noise, but lets it go, and Alice purses her lips a little. “Okay. So, ‘worst case scenario:’ Sirius knows that you have a crazy big crush on him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Remus frowns, because Alice and Lily are two of the smartest, fiercest women he knows, but they’re asking the most inane questions. “He gets weirded out, our friendship is ruined, it splits the group and everyone sides with Sirius.”

“Habibi, _never_.” Alice looks aghast. “If you really think that we would all abandon you over something like this, then we’re failing you as friends.”

“You are just as important to us as Sirius,” Lily says firmly, and Remus screws his eyes shut. (He’s screwing this up, just like he’s screwed up his friendship with Sirius. He doesn’t want to talk about his shitty self-worth, he doesn’t want to have to explain to them all the reasons why Sirius will absolutely never reciprocate his feelings; all he wants is to curl up in bed with a hot-water bottle and feel sorry for himself).

He’s vaguely aware that Lily and Alice are silently communicating whilst his eyes are shut – probably in BSL, James paid for everybody to have classes the moment Peter joined their group – and he’s resigning himself to yet another pep talk about how loved he is, but –

“Okay, what if this is a classic example of your anxiety working everything up, and he doesn’t actually know, and everything stays the same?”

Remus opens his eyes in surprise. “That’d be the best solution,” he says, like it’s obvious, because that would be ideal, right? That’s what he wants, isn’t it?

There’s a pause, and Alice and Lily exchange another Look, and Remus realises he’s missing something significant. He sort of wants to ask what it is, but his stomach is hurting worse and worse by the second, this conversation is draining more and more of his energy – not a good sign considering he has work later.

“I promise we’ll drop this if _you_ promise us that you’ll talk to him,” Lily says finally.

“ _Soon_ ,” adds Alice.

The thought of hashing all this out with Sirius makes Remus’ anxiety _spike_ , and his head spins a little even as he finds himself nodding in agreement. It seems to satisfy his friends for the time being though, because the conversation shifts to their jobs – Lily and Alice take lead of the conversation, whilst Remus leans back in the armchair, focusing on breathing through his nerves and massaging his stomach through the pain. (Neither do much to ease his suffering).

He loses track of time – it’s only Alice nudging him and reminding him that he needs to get going for work that forces him to his feet.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” he says, pulling his arms around himself, and his heart warm a little as the two of them scoff.

“We love you _so_ much, sweetheart,” Lily murmurs before he leaves, and he nods, pecking her cheek, before turning to Alice.

“Don’t lose hope. Things will work out, إن شاء الله,” she presses a kiss to his other cheek, holds him tight in her embrace for a moment longer than necessary.

(His friends are the best things in his life; he will never stop being grateful to them, and he can only pray that this _thing_ with Sirius isn’t about to fuck it all up, because it will tear him apart if it does).

*~*~*~*

It’s not a long shift – only four or so hours, but Tom tries to convince him twice to go home in that time – and every time he catches sight of his reflection in the pint glasses, he has to resist a shudder, because he’s all blotchy and clammy and a _fucking mess_. He has a minor moment of panic when his brain is too foggy to comprehend a customer’s order, but Tom rescues him (“ _if you won’t go home, lad, then you’re gonna at least take a fuckin’ break,_ ” and Remus spends the entire fifteen minutes in the breakroom curled in a ball on the floor).

Closing finally – _finally –_ arrives, the last of the regulars slope off, and Remus begins wiping down the tables and bar top, moving slowly to accommodate his aching everything. The soft music – usually obscured by the noise and bustle of the pub – drifts over the empty room, and he’s _so_ fucking tired.

“Can I get a drink?”

“We’re closed,” says Remus automatically, before he tenses as he recognises the voice. Sirius is leaning across the bar with his playful smirk, and he looks – _fantastic_ , of course he does. (And Remus is pale and sweating with how much pain he’s in, and the bags under his eyes are now taking up most of his face, he looks – _dreadful,_ of course he does).

“Hey,” says Sirius, his smirk fading in to something a little more cautious, and his gaze flickers over Remus concernedly.

“Hi,” Remus says, because, in spite of Alice and Lily’s best efforts to prepare him for this moment, he doesn’t have a fucking clue what to do now that he’s actually face-to-face with Sirius.

Sirius clears his throat, clearly just as aware of the awkwardness as Remus. “How’ve you been? S’been a while.”

Remus grips the underside of the bar for support, feeling a little weak with panic. He knows Sirius is anxious too – he’s picking at his cuff with one hand, and he keeps adjusting his stance from one leg to the other, and Remus _doesn’t know what to say._

“Oh… uh, I mean, you know, busy…” he winces at his own excuses, looks down at the glasses he’s wiping dry, desperate for some sort of distraction. “How have you been?” He chances a glance back up at Sirius.

He’s frowning, studying Remus – taking in the way his hands are shaking slightly with the effort of putting the glasses away, at the way he’s cradling his stomach with his arm. He takes a breath, and meets Remus’ eyes squarely. “Not that great. Anxious as heck. Missed you,” he chuckles self-consciously.

Remus’ throat is dry and his stomach is churning, but if Sirius can be brave enough to be honest, then _fuck it_ , so can he. He swallows, “I missed you too.”

“Then why didn’t you _text_? Or call, or _something?_ ” Sirius blurts, and the way his eyes widen shows that he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Remus sees Sirius’ fingers clench around his thigh – a sure-fire sign that he is Anxious -  and his fingers itch with the urge to reach out and take it, to help in some way. But he can’t. He doesn’t have that right.

He can’t hold Sirius’ gaze any longer. He looks away, breathing through his own anxiety, and forces himself to be honest. “I think – I – uh, I made things weird between us, didn’t I?” His chest tightens painfully as he admits it out loud, _hate-guilt-shame_ tearing through him.

“What makes you say that?” Sirius’ voice is careful and measured, and Remus wants to scream, because Sirius is actually going to make him say it – he can’t he can’t he can’t –

He can’t do it. Lying to Sirius makes him feel like the scum of the Earth – he _is_ the scum of the Earth for even _considering_ it, but what choice does he have? Lily and Alice were _wrong_ – he doesn’t deserve Sirius, _nobody_ deserves Sirius; Sirius is too good and amazing and wonderful, and Remus could never give him the life he deserves.

( _This is for the best_ ).

( _Right?_ )

He keeps his voice as light as possible, forces a smile to his lips, which probably looks a little too-brittle, but he can always blame it on his fibro. What’s one more lie between them? “Not sure really… it’s not like we haven’t kissed before – I just, on the hand, it’s a bit weird, right?”

(His heart is doing something _wrong_ and _painful_ – a different kind of pain to the pain shooting up and down his body, but no less real. This pain is buried deep, a sort of tearing in his chest, like someone is actually trying to rip his heart out and squeeze the bloody tatters out through his ribcage).

( _This is how his heart breaks_ ).

There’s a pause. It’s tense and _wrong_ and overwhelmingly _bad_. And then –

Sirius laughs, only it’s wrong, there’s something wrong – Sirius’ laugh should be delighted and joyful and loud and _this,_ this is none of those things; it’s forced and uncomfortable and a little awkward, and Remus’ heart _aches_ a little, because he doesn’t know how to fix this. He’s fucked up, he’s ruined everything, he’s in so much fucking pain and he’s fucking exhausted and he can’t – he just _can’t._

The sob rises in his throat, even as Sirius is choosing his reply. “A little, I guess. But that’s no reason to go all AWOL on me, okay?”

Remus ducks his head to hide the tears forming on his lashes, and nods. “Sorry – I won’t do it again.”

“Please don’t.” Sirius’ voice is too soft and tender and full of something that Remus can’t place – the sincerity though nearly breaks his resolve to not tell Sirius everything, and he bites down his lip hard enough to taste copper to stop himself from spilling it all.

He nods again, not trusting his voice, and takes a few deep breaths, licking at his lips where they’re oozing blood.

“Are you nearly done here?” Sirius asks, and the change of subject is both relieving and distressing.

“Gotta finish with the sweeping,” Remus mumbles to the floor, and the thought of that much movement makes him want to give in to the tears completely and just sob on the ground.

Sirius claps his hands. “Go sit. I’ll sweep.”

He’s already marching towards the cleaning cupboard by the time Remus is stumbling for a reply. “No – I can – you shouldn’t-“

Sirius is back, broom and dustpan in hand, and he presses his spare palm against Remus' cheek gently. “Remus. You look like shit. You’re obviously in pain. Please, for the love of God, humour me and go sit down.”

Remus wants to argue. He really intends to, except he finds himself wandering in a zombie-like state towards the soft sofa seats, and watching through half-open eyes as Sirius makes short work of the sweeping. (Another reason he doesn’t deserve Sirius).

A shadow falls in front of his face, and then there are warm hands in his, helping him to his feet. He staggers a little, and an arm slides around his waist, supporting him until he’s steadier. “I’ll walk you home,” Sirius says quietly, and it’s not a question, but Remus still nods his assent, too tired to argue with him.

The walk back (and Remus insists on a walk, because he absolutely cannot spare the cash for a taxi, and Sirius had already done too much for him this evening) is a sign of how strong their friendship is – it’s quietly pleasant, comfortable, in spite of the recent tension, everything is exactly as it should be. And yet, something has changed between them, Remus is sure of it – there’s something _different_ behind Sirius’ eyes, something _more_ in his smile, and Remus desperately wishes he could place exactly what it is, if only he weren’t so bloody tired. Sirius keeps up a stream of only-slightly-nervous-chatter, and Remus lets it wash over him, too focused on his own pain and self-loathing and guilt to really focus on what he’s saying. (Ironically, the thought of his self-absorption only adds to his self-loathing and guilt, and he knows vaguely that this is going to spiral, that he is Not Okay).

(He misses the way Sirius’ smile is a little sad, his eyes a little disappointed, as they say their good nights in front of Remus’ apartment block. He has no way of knowing that the second he disappears through the door, Sirius is on the phone to James – “ _Prongs, I thought you said he felt the same, I don’t understand, I thought – I hoped –“_. He’s busy crashing fully-clothed in to bed, the guilt and the pain and the shame digging their claws tightly in to his body, and pulling him away from a restful sleep). ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I PROMISE THIS WILL BE HAPPY  
> (Will I ever write something I don't hate??)
> 
> Sorry this is dialogue-heavy, especially since I'm not that good at writing dialogue, but I was craving some Alice-Lily-Remus friendship, and then Remus and Sirius had to have a Conversation so.. dialogue~. Also sorry that this didn't go where I know some of you wanted it to - they'll get there, I promise!
> 
> So I've mentioned before that Remus has Fibromyalgia, and as this chapter revealed, Alice is epileptic and Lily has Ulcerative Colitis. I have three friends who have their own "Three Spoonies" group and they meet up once a fortnight and bitch about being chronically ill. Their experiences are forming the basis for my writing about Remus, Lily and Alice, and obviously they don't represent everybody suffering with these chronic illnesses, but I hope what I've written isn't miles off, at least.
> 
> الحمد الله / al-hamdu Allah = "praise be to God" and إن شاء الله / in sha' Allah = "God be willing"  
> ...tbh I just wanted to show off that I speak Arabic lmao. 
> 
> I know there are mistakes in this, I will edit tomorrow when I feel more human and less exhausted-robot.  
> If y’all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!
> 
> Y'all are so so so kind, I'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!  
> Love always & take care xoxo


	6. "Have a good day at work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of anxiety.

_Smart-casual._

_What does that even mean?_

Sirius stares himself down in the mirror – his hair has never looked glossier, his eyeliner is absolutely on _point_ , his highlight is making him fucking _glow._ His outfit on the other hand – he’s not so confident. Which is less than ideal, considering today marks his first day at Queerllustration, where, judging by what he’d seen at his interview, he’ll be surrounded by beautifully-dressed and well put together arty types; he _cannot_ fuck up this look.

(Is it possible that he’s pinning too much meaning on his make-up and clothing, and not enough on the actual _this-is-his-first-day-working-at-Queerllustration_ part of things? Yes, very, but that’s only because if he stops to think about that fact for even a second, then he will actually _implode_ from anxiety – really, fashion is the only thing holding him together at this point).

A small part of him is livid at himself that he’s not thought about this properly before now, but the other part – the half that accepts that he is a born procrastinator, far too used to being able to pull it out of the bag last minute and still get top marks, and will probably put off his own death out of sheer laziness – is lowkey impressed that he’s doing this a whole _two hours_ before he has to leave.  

The [Sia track in the background](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dhsCYEkC9E) changes to something more dance-y, and Sirius absent-mindedly swishes his hips in time to the beat, lets his skirt fan out around his thighs as he surveys his reflection critically. What he needs, he decides, is a second opinion. Ordinarily, James would be delighted to advise, would probably demand a fashion show complete with lighting and music, but alas, he is already at school with Kingsley, organising his breakfast club for the disadvantaged kids of the area. Similarly, Lily’s at morning classes, and then she’ll head straight to work –

Decisions are so goddamn hard. Smart casual is so fucking _vague._

He takes a calming breath, though it does fuck-all to actually calm him down, and then angles his phone carefully, before snapping a quick selfie. He drops it in to the group chat with “ _smart casual”_ and a string of question marks and thinking emojis. The replies come within ten minutes as he stews, trying to resist the urge to gnaw on his nails in nervousness.

**Alice:** _slaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy [fire emoji]_

**Wormtail:[[Brooklyn Nine-Nine gif of Captain Raymond Holt saying “hot damn!”]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijNwZjYzmnc) **

****Prongs:** _babe_ **

****

**Prongs:** _you are stunning_

****

**Prongs:** _utter perfection_

****

**Prongs:** _I am high key in love with you_

****

**Lils:** _I second everything J said_

****

**Lils:** _(dat eyeliner tho [okay sign emoji] [100% sign emoji])_

****

**Kingsley:** _yaaasss queen_

****

**Marlene:** _[thumbs up emoji] [crown emoji] [love heart eyes emoji]_

****

**Frank:** _u look great bud_

****

His heart warms at their encouragement, and the ball of anxiousness that’s been swelling in his stomach shrinks ever so slightly. Returning lovehearts to each of them (different colours for each person, obviously, and the sparkly one for James because he’s hella extra), he pauses over Remus’ name, where his message is still marked unread. He knows he’s being daft – he has reassurances from almost all of the people he loves the most in the world, but he _needs_ Remus’ approval on this, because Remus always seems to know _exactly_ what to say. And besides, he knows Remus doesn’t have work this morning, because he’d made Sirius promise to ring if he needs anything.

****

_Does this count?_ Probably not what Remus had had in mind, honestly – Remus goes for comfort over statement, though he has a unique and incredible ability to look cute in sweatpants and a holey jumper – but his opinion still holds a special place in Sirius’ heart.

****

 Things have _almost_ gone back to normal between them after… whatever it was that twisted, warped and broke last week, and Sirius is _fine,_ he _is,_ and _no, Prongs, he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore,_ he’s _fine._

****

The crushing disappointment is an aching lump in his chest, exacerbating the anxiety and the insecurities that always lurk just beneath his ribcage, and he’s cried and cried and cried (and sure, he’s a crier, but even for him, this is A Lot), trying to batter his _stupid_ heart in to getting over the warmth and love and _everything_ that Remus is.

****

But yeah, he’s _fine._

****

(Shut _up,_ Prongs, he will be _fine_ ).

****

Before he chokes up about it all over again, he jabs at Remus’ number, holding his breath as the dial tone sounds, then waits –

****

And waits –

****

And –

****

Just when he’s convinced himself that Remus isn’t going to answer, and the panic _lurches_ up his throat so fast he thinks he might actually _vomit_ all over his lap –

****

“Moony – what does smart casual mean?” he says urgently, the second Remus picks up. (It takes a moment to register that the long wait means that Remus was probably sleeping, and the grogginess as he mumbles, “hello?” confirms this).

****

Guilt floods through him, as he hears Remus moving around – presumably sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes, squinting at the clock on his bedside table – and it’s so fucking domestic that his heart _aches_ for it a little. “Give me a second, Pads,” he says, his voice still heavy and thick with sleep.

****

“Sorry I woke you-“ Sirius begins, unable to stop the guilt from pouring out of his mouth. “I know you’re probably exhausted – I just needed some advice – I – sorry.”

****

“It’s _fine,_ Pads,” Remus says, and he just _knows_ that Remus is rolling his eyes at him, even though it’s not fine that he disturbed his rest when he’s already so tired, he’s a _shitty_ friend-

****

“Okay. What was the question again?” Remus asks through a yawn.

****

He takes a breath to thank whatever deity is controlling his life that Remus is so Good and kind and forgiving. “Smart-casual. What does that mean, I don’t know what to doooo.”

****

Sirius can hear Remus’ smile, and the line crackles a little as Remus sighs fondly – because his phone is ancient and terrible and barely functions as a phone anymore. “What are you wearing?”

****

“My black skirt – the one with the pleats that goes all _whoosh_ , you know?”

****

“Cute,” Remus interjects, and Sirius’ heart does a little swoop.

****

“Plus my black boots, tights, and my green blousey thing.”

****

“Double triple cute,” Remus says, “you look great in green.” There’s something about just-woken-up Remus that’s even more wonderful than normal-Remus, and Sirius had no idea that such a thing was possible. This Remus is so openly affectionate, so soft, so warm -  so _wrong_ though because-

****

Sirius wrinkles his nose. “Red’s more my thing.”

****

Remus makes a noise of agreement. “I guess. You look good in all the colours.”

****

Sirius heart _sings._ “All of them?” he asks – too soft, too fond, too obvious.

****

“All of the colours,” Remus repeats, his words slurring slightly, and Sirius can tell he’s starting to drift back to sleep – he’s probably horizontal once more, his phone balanced precariously on one ear.

****

And he’s selfish and the _worst,_ but he doesn’t want Remus to hang up yet, even though he knows that Remus needs all the sleep he can get. Because when he’s talking to Remus, he can pretend like the anxiety stirring in his gut is just excitement, like it’s something manageable that isn’t going to chew him up and spit him out before he even sets foot outside.

****

“I just – is it too much? Should I just go all classic white-boy and do a polo neck and chinos, like??”

****

Remus makes a little pained noise, and it’s honest-to-God _adorable_. “Nooo, why would you do that?”

****

Sirius flops back on to his bed with a sigh, a hand on his chest where it’s sort of hard to breathe if he thinks about work too much. “I – I know I can be A Lot, sometimes maybe Too Much, you know? I want them to like me-“

****

“ _No_ , Padfoot, no no no,” Remus sounds suddenly much more awake, the distress sharpening his tone. “Never. You’re never Too Much, you’re perfect, and if they don’t like you, then-“ he flounders, because it’s early and his brain isn’t quite caught up with his mouth yet. “Please never think that,” he says, “you shouldn’t have to change yourself when yourself is so utterly loveable and brilliant.”

****

Sirius is slightly horrified to feel the lump in the back of his throat, partly because if he cries now, he’s going to _ruin_ his eyeliner, and partly because he _adores_ this man with everything he has; every single atom in his body is hopelessly devoted to him, and perhaps always will be.

****

“I guess,” he manages, after a pause, once he’s sure that his voice isn’t going to crack.

****

Remus lets out an “oomph” and a groan, and Sirius is about to ask what’s wrong – probably in a voice laced with too much concern – when he hears a thrumming purr through the phone. “Is that Winky?” he says instead, unable to stop the childlike grin from spreading across his face.

****

“Yeah,” Remus chuckles, “she says hello.” The purring gets louder as Remus presumably holds the phone against Winky’s chest, like the completely wonderful _dork_ he is.

****

Sirius laughs, and the anxiety takes a hit. Not a large one, not enough to do lasting damage, but enough to hold it at bay for now. He loosens his grip around his chest. _Breathe._

****

“Anyway,” Remus continues. “Love, do you want to work in a place where you can’t dress like yourself?”

****

Sirius closes his eyes, because Remus is _right._ He’s always _right,_ it floors Sirius every time Remus demonstrates just _how well_ he knows Sirius. “No,” he says quietly.

****

There’s a moment of quiet, in which they just listen to each other _breathe_. It’s soft and intimate and perfect, and for a minute, Sirius can forget that he’s starting a new job in less than two hours, that he’s going to have to deal with all these new people and responsibilities, and just _be._

****

“How are you feeling?” Remus murmurs eventually.

****

Sirius starts to say that he’s fine, then remembers who he’s speaking to, and ends up making a noise like he’s been trampled on.

****

“That well, huh?” Remus says, and Sirius laughs humourlessly. There’s another pause, then Remus continues equally gently. “You know that _I_ know that you’re gonna fucking smash it. You’re gonna go in there and blow them away with your brilliance and your talent, because _that’s what you do._ You’re gonna charm the pants off all of them, you’re gonna look unbelievably cute, you’re gonna have the best day ever.”

****

Sirius screws his eyes shut against the tenderness in his voice. “But, what if-“

****

“ _Sirius._ You’re gonna make me proud – you’re gonna make all of us so bloody proud, because you’re not capable of doing anything less. You make us proud every day by being _you_. So, go out there, be yourself, make us proud, we will love you and support you _no matter what.”_

****

The lump is back in Sirius’ throat and it’s actually _impossible_ for him to speak around it. He presses his fingers in to his eyes, willing himself not to cry, his heart entirely _full_ with how much Remus means to him, _overflowing_ with love and gratefulness and friendship. It takes him several seconds to breathe through his tears, and his voice is horribly wobbly and crackly when he finally finds it again.

****

“I couldn’t do this without you, Moony.”

****

“I don’t believe that for a second. I know you. You’re amazing.”

****

_I love you,_ he almost replies, then catches himself last minute – because although they say it to each other all the time, although it’s the most honest thing he can think of, it’s too soon after the mess of last week, and right now, it would be too honest, too true, too much. Instead he says, “I – uh I – I should go get ready. I – thank you, Moony. Thank you so much.”

****

“Of course,” Remus says immediately. “My phone will be on loud all day, so if you need anything, then just ring, okay?”

****

“Yeah.”

****

“It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be better than okay.”

****

“Yeah.”

****

“Have a good day at work, Pads. I’m so, _so_ proud of you.” Remus’ voice is nothing but sincere, kindness in every syllable.

****

“Thank you, Moons. I – I’ll call you tonight, yeah?”

****

“Come over, I’m in all evening… you can hang out with Winky, and we can watch Bake Off, and eat cake, and you can tell me all about how brilliant you were.”

****

Remus’ faith in him is so staggering that Sirius actually feels a little unsteady, even though he’s sitting down. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

****

“Bye, love.”

****

“Bye, Moony.”

****

Sirius takes a deep breath – then another – gets to his feet, straightens his skirt, and makes his way out of his room and in to the kitchen. Because fate seems to be on his side this morning, the current song that’s playing transitions in to [Rainbow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd5dcjXzuGk), and Sirius feels his anxiety shrink even more as the familiar chords, coupled with Kesha’s gorgeous voice, wash over him. Instead, his heart swells as he catches sight of the note that James has tacked to the kitchen counter.

****

_Padfoot –_

****

_Today is a big day, and you’re going to be amazing. More than amazing. You’re going to shine like the fucking star that you are. I’m so proud of you. Go and make your dreams come true <3_

****

_Endless love from your best friend, who is only a phone call away, and can’t wait to hear all about it._

****

_Prongs_

****

The tears threaten to return, and – fuck it, at this point, he’s going to have to redo his make-up anyway – he lets them, because _he doesn’t deserve_ James’ unbounding love and affection _._ He sends a snap of his watery eyes to James with a string of hearts, and then catches sight of the pot that’s resting in the oven. It’s warm when he pulls it out, and as he lifts the lid, the sweet, milky aroma of _kheer_ hits his nose, and it’s like James has enveloped him in a hug _– he loves him, he loves him, he loves him._

****

Once he’d started spending all of his free time at James’ family home, once James’ parents had come to look on him as their own son, James’ mother would make _kheer_ specially for Sirius whenever he was having a particularly Anxious Day. On the days when the thought of leaving the safety of his bed made his chest tight and painful, on the days when having to get dressed and _be a person_ made him want to curl up in a ball and cry, James’ mother would appear in his room with a steaming bowl of _kheer_ and a chai tea, and she would just sit and listen to him talk about his fears. It was the kind of relationship he’d never had – and never would have – with his own mother, and these quiet mornings are some of his most cherished memories with James’ family.

****

After they’d moved out, James had taken over the tradition, and there’s always a pot of kheer ready on the mornings before exams, interviews, Bad Days – whenever Sirius needs it to be honest –because James is unfailingly generous and loving, showering his friends with care and support at the drop of a hat. (Sirius has never found the words to express just _how_ grateful he is for James’ friendship – and it’s not for lack of trying).

****

Unlike the White People version that sits heavy in his stomach like a flavourless weight, this is light, tasty, full of love and kindness and confidence – and it’s the boost Sirius needs to get himself up and ready.

****

(He’s still anxious. He’s still a Bit of a Mess, and he’s still half-convinced that his new colleagues will think he’s Too Much, and hate him and his quirky queer self on sight. But he has friends who will stand by him, no matter what, who cherish him and care about him and make his heart _sing_ with happiness at the thought of them.

****

He can do this).

****

*~*~*~*

****

“-And then they introduced me to the rest of the team I’m working with, and Akilah – my supervisor – said they loved my boots! And I got to meet the person _who actually_ _created Eclipse_ , Moony, I nearly died, _I met my fucking idol_ , and xe was amazing. And-“

****

Sirius is horribly aware that he hasn’t stopped monologuing for approximately fifteen minutes – ever since Remus had made the terrible mistake of saying, “ _tell me everything_ ,” with that warm, lovely, ridiculously-dimply smile. But he can’t seem to stop the words from overflowing out of his mouth, because his whole body is _flooded_ with good vibes and pleasant memories, and sure, he’s exhausted, but he’s also thrumming with excitement for what the future now holds, and this – _this –_ is why he wanted to go in to Illustration.

****

Remus doesn’t say much; he nods and laughs and makes the appropriate noises, head tilted to one side. (Sirius can’t _believe_ how soft and cuddly and cosy Remus looks – he’s wearing a thick burgundy sweater that’s unravelling at the sleeves, ratty sweatpants, mustard-yellow fluffy socks, and glasses, and Sirius is _dying_ ) _._ If Sirius keeps rattling off nonsense at Remus, he can ignore how Remus’ fingers are clenched around the hot water bottle pressed against his stomach, at how tired and world-weary he looks, at how he rubs at his temples every thirty seconds or so – because Remus had made it very clear when he walked through the door, that this was not a topic of conversation.

****

Winky hops up in to Sirius’ lap, and he pauses to greet her. She arches up in to his hand with a mewling sound, and he can’t help but coo back at her. Remus snorts, and Sirius pulls a face at him. “What?”

****

“She’s got you wrapped round her paw,” Remus says fondly.

****

“Of course she does, look at her, she’s perfect.” Winky purrs and settles down on his thighs. “Aren’t you, yes you are!”

****

Remus rolls his eyes, but reaches a hand out to scratch behind Winky’s ears. “So, to summarise, your first day was amazing?” he prompts.

****

“Understatement – it was – overwhelming, but not in a bad way? They actually seemed to _like_ me and my art, and they really seemed _excited_ to work with me, I can’t – I can’t believe it.”

****

“I can,” Remus says softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

****

“Yeah, you said,” Sirius says, unable to stop the blush creeping up his cheeks, because Remus looks so goddamn _sincere_ and _happy_ for him. There’s a comfortable pause, and then Remus clears his throat.

****

“So, I know I promised you cake, but, well, that didn’t happen,” he rubs at his left arm – a tell that Sirius knows means he’s embarrassed, and his heart twinges a little, because does he not know that just being here and listening to him is more than enough? – and continues, “But we can order whatever you like, and I have all of the new series of Bake Off recorded.”

****

“The _new_ series?” Sirius fakes affront. “Moony, you traitor, what would Mary Berry say?”

****

“Oh come on, you’re just as curious as I am.”

****

“True.”

****

They snuggle together on Remus’ shitty, ancient sofa, with a fluffy blanket and Winky and Chinese food, in front of Bake Off, and honestly, Sirius can’t think of a better way to spend the evening of his first day. Eventually, he’ll have to head home, and be cuddled within an inch of his life by James, but right now, he can just exist in this comfortable, safe bubble of happiness and warmth with one of his favourite people in the world.

****

And it’s perfect.   

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the ending sucks, lmao.  
> \- Honestly though what is smart casual?  
> \- If you're gonna try and convince me that Sirius wouldn't wear skirts and eyeliner, I will fight you.  
> \- I only found out when I was writing this that kheer is apparently a pudding?? I've only ever eaten it when my friend makes it for breakfast before exams because xe's a sweetheart, but anyway, it's delicious and makes me feel better 10/10 would recommend. (If I've said something wrong, please feel free to correct me).  
> \- Kesha is hella problematic but Rainbow is so magic and v v special to me.  
> \- I love my bi son James who aggressively loves Sirius with everything that he has.  
> \- GBBO is a Really Big Deal in the UK, and basically if you missed out on the drama, it moved from the BBC to Channel 4, which caused Great Controversy. (I know, I know).
> 
> If y’all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!  
> Y'all are wonderful, I'm so grateful for your support!  
> Love always & take care xoxo


	7. "I dreamed about you last night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for: anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and ideation, the vaguest references to past suicide attempt, generally appalling mental health, references to eating disorders, self-hate and negative comments about weight.

Remus wakes with his mouth stretched in a silent scream, limbs taut, stomach churning, to find –

Nothing.

Obviously, nothing; it was a dream, and that was all – or maybe, judging by his state of being, a nightmare – the details of which are fast slipping through his fingers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, and it’s an effort to untangle his fists from where they’re clenched around his sheets. The flashing images are already losing their vividness – if only his lungs could get the memo that  _it wasn’t fucking real, get over it_. He forces in deeper breaths, counting them slowly out, and in, like he’s been taught, and then chugs the glass of water on his bedside table, as soon as he thinks he can down it without choking. A little dribbles down his chin and neck, but the cool liquid settles like a weight in his stomach, grounding him a little more – enough to glance across at the clock and see 02:37am glowing back at him.

For  _fuck’s_ sake – twice in one night? He drags a tired hand down his face, wondering just  _how_  much of this he’s supposed to take. How much more  _can_ he take, before he gives in and tries something else, because this is frankly  _ridiculous._ The doctor had warned him that upping his medications would affect his sleeping patterns, but he can’t remember the last night of unbroken sleep.

(When does this end? When does he get to resign from this mental health shitstorm – when is he allowed to drop out?)

He does his best to halt that line of thought right there, knows that he’s only thinking it because he’s exhausted and running on the fumes of sleepless nights, knows where those thoughts lead.

(It’s too late. The dark, empty ache in his chest is back, heavier than ever – how can such an empty feeling press down on him enough to make him feel like he’s suffocating?)

The uneasiness that lingers from the nightmare sinks its claws in to Remus’ brain, and he’s  _spiralling;_  the black murkiness that drags him down so often these days clings to his vision, and out of it, crawls the all-too-familiar  _worthlessness despair hopelessness hate hate hate –_

His lungs are tight again, only this time it’s like something’s sitting on his heart, restricting the air in his chest to frantic gasps, and he knows what he wants to do – what he  _needs_ to do. The urge to  _hurt_ himself is a fierce, burning, boiling  _need_ beneath his skin – to mark himself up in some way, so that there’s some kind of  _visible_ proof that the turmoil in his head is  _real_  and  _happening_ and  _valid_  – something that will make people not just listen, but  _hear_ him when he reaches out for help, something that will stop the doctors from brushing him off as “distressed, but not a pressing concern” –

He digs his nails in to his palms, willing himself not to scream. Instead, tears prickle in his eyes, and he is stretched too thin emotionally to even  _attempt_  to stop them from falling.

( _You need to call someone,_  his mind supplies, as his coping mechanisms  _finally_ kick in, and he bites back the panic that swells in his chest, fills his mouth, squeezes his tongue, at the thought of someone seeing him like this, because he is  _past that,_ damn it). He fumbles for his phone, drops it twice, because his hands are sweating and shaking. There’s an awful moment where he does actually scream, because his fingers are trembling so much that he gets his passcode wrong three times in a row. The thirty seconds he’s locked out tick by so slowly, that Remus convinces himself that time itself has stopped, but then finally –  _finally_  – he hits the right combination, and is scrolling through his contacts in desperate, sweeping motions.

He slams the call button, and shakily presses the screen to his forehead as he waits. The ringing lasts four lifetimes, and the panic of  _what-if-he-picks-up-what-if-he-doesn’t-pick-up-I’m-awful-awful-awful_  rises so fast that it’s almost vomit-inducing. But then –

“Hello?” croaks a familiar voice, and Remus sobs quietly before he can help himself, as a bizarre  _relief-but-still-panic_  washes over him. He wades through the self-loathing that he’s woken a friend up at two in the fucking morning ( _selfish, selfish, selfish_ ) –

“Prongs,” he manages, and hears James’ intake of breath.

Give me  _one_ second, Moony,” he whispers, and there’s movement at his end – a murmuring sound (presumably Lily) – and when he speaks again, his voice is still hushed, but Remus can tell from the acoustics that he’s moved rooms. “I’m here, love, talk to me.”

“It’s – bad – “ Remus gets out, digging ragged nails in to his forearms now, silently pleading for James to  _make it better._

“Breathe for me, love,” James keeps his voice gentle, and Remus obediently inhales, the rush of air dizzying. “Did something happen?”

“Bad dream,” Remus’ voice cracks, and he  _hates_ himself,  _hates_ that he can’t handle a stupid nightmare,  _hates_ how scared he is of what his life is becoming, but most of all, he hates how he’s nauseous with embarrassment, because objectively, he  _knows_ that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.

James doesn’t say ‘ _it’s okay, it wasn’t real, it’s over now, there’s nothing to be afraid of,’_ doesn’t say any of the well-intentioned things that people tend to blurt. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make light of any of it, because James, of all people, knows that sometimes nothing is more real – nothing is  _scarier_ – than the inside of your head.

Instead, he says, “hey, did I tell you about what Lionel did at school last week?” When Remus pauses, he launches in to an embellished tale about a brilliant, but mischievous, pupil who had managed to put the school’s science block up for sale. Remus doesn’t pay full attention as to the details of how Lionel had pulled it off, but he allows the rise and fall of James’ expressive narration to wash over him, dragging him back to the shore and anchoring him there. When James finally finishes his story, he pauses for a few seconds, and says gently, “how are we doing?”

Remus inhales, relishing in how  _easy_ it is now, and leans back against the headboard. “Better.”

“Good.”

James lets the silence stretch out for another few minutes, and Remus closes his eyes, tipping his head until it connects with the wall with a  _thunk_. His whole body is aching with exhaustion, but it’s not the kind that will allow him to rest, because whilst the panic attack is gone, the anxiety lingers in his chest and mind.

“What’s going on, love?” James says, and Remus curls his fingers in to his palms.

“I… I haven’t been doing well,” he says finally, and in spite of the blatancy of that statement, James doesn’t scoff. He makes a soft humming sound, a kind of ‘go on’ encouragement. “I can’t sleep. I can’t – everything  _hurts_ all the time. I – I – I –“ His chest is constricting once more, and this time he’s too fatigued and drained to even fight it. He makes a choked sort of gagging sound. “I don’t know what’s  _changed_ ,” his voice cracks, and James takes a breath.

“Okay. Okay, love, keep breathing. Do you want me to come over?” His voice is carefully measured, and Remus knows that James would be here in a heartbeat if he asked. There’s a large part of him that is longing for James’ understanding silences, his warm hugs, and his gentle questions. But he can’t do that to him. Not when James has to be up in – he glances at the clock –  _two hours_ for work. Guilt slithers in to his chest to join the anxiety, and he truly  _does not understand_ what he did to deserve a friend like James.

Despite everything in his heart demanding the opposite, he says, “no. No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I can be at yours in ten minutes. It’s not a problem.”

Remus squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “No. Honestly, it’s fine.”

James makes a humming sound, “okay. Fine. But I’m coming over tomorrow after school, and we’re gonna talk.” He says it with the same kind firmness that makes him such a popular teacher, and Remus – despite all the darkness inside him whispering that he’s not worth it – mumbles an agreement.

“Thank you.”

Remus can’t speak – if he does, he thinks he’ll start crying those huge, uncontrollable, wet sobs, and then there will be no stopping James.

“I love you, Moony. See you tomorrow.” James hesitates. “Please take care. I’ll have my phone on all day.”

Remus swallows hard, and the lump in the back of his mouth temporarily retreats to his throat. His voice is more than a little wobbly as he says, “I love you too. Thank you,” but he hangs up before James can say anything more.

He drops his phone on the mattress next to him without locking it. For thirty seconds, the room is semi-lit with a pale glow that casts horrendously elongated shadows against the walls, before everything goes dark. Remus’ chest feels simultaneously hollow and heavy, his head is swirling with anxiety and misery and self-hatred, his limbs are aching and leaden. He forces his palms flat against the mattress, ignoring the blood oozing from them that smears across the sheets. The thought of tomorrow’s –  _or rather today’s_ – arduous conversation further drains his energy.

And yet sleep is tantalisingly out of reach.

Sunlight is peeking through the blinds and shooting shafts of light across the room before he drags himself of the dark depths of his depression. It’s stale and stifling in here, but it’s far enough to the window that he can’t help but cringe at the thought of leaving the bed to open it. Throughout the night, he’s slid a little down the wall, and the awkwardness of the position has transformed the ache in his shoulders and back in to a full-blown  _burning_ pain. It takes an excruciating amount of time to summon the energy to move, but finally, he unsticks his palms from where they’re gummed to the mattress with blood, and shuffles in to a horizontal position. His phone is dead, but thankfully the charging cord is within arm’s reach, and he uses the last of his strength to plug the phone in.

When sleep does come, it’s the restless kind – the kind where you toss and turn with uneasiness, where you wake up feeling even more groggy and spent than before, where panic and fear jerk you awake every few minutes. It’s a throbbing pain in his lower stomach that finally wakes him for good, and it’s severe enough that he has to bully himself in to leaving his bed. Winky winds around his legs as he staggers to the bathroom. Doubled over, he retches over the toilet, but there’s nothing to bring up, and he dumps half a box of food in to Winky’s bowl before he crawls back in to bed with a hot water bottle, tears stinging at his eyes, because  _he hates this. He can’t keep doing this – he cannot._

* * *

 

Later that day, when he’s curled up in bed with a now-lukewarm hot water bottle clutched against his stomach, and surrounded by copious amounts of lemon and ginger tea, his alarm goes off to remind him to take his medication. It’s only as he’s popping the little blue tablets and swallowing them dry that he actually checks his screen, and he feels his tummy swoop pleasantly when he reads ‘Pads <3 (5 messages)’.

 **Pads <3 (11:13): **hey, prongs told me things were rough last night [sad face emoji] i’m here for you [sparkling heart emoji]

 **Pads <3 (12:15): **do you want company?? or snacks? cuddles? anything tbh

 **Pads <3 (14:56): **moonbeam. i dreamed about you last night. and i don’t remember what it was about. i just know that you were there, and i woke up feeling so warm and safe and cared for. this is the way i feel about you all the time. you make me warm and safe and cared for

 **Pads <3 (14:57): **you make so many people feel so much better, especially me. please don’t deny yourself the same love you show everybody else. we are here. we want to help.

 **Pads <3 (16:34): **i’m sorry to do this bc you shouldn’t reply unless you want to, but if you could just let me know you’re ok/not alone it would rly help my gremlin brain i’m sorry

Remus feels the guilt curling around his gut as he realises that his silence is making Sirius anxious – the feeling contrasts sharply against the soft, tug-of-heartstrings that Sirius’ messages give him. Thankfully, his last message is less than an hour old, and he quickly taps out a reply:

 **You (17:19):** hey, sorry to worry you. I’m okay, I’ve been sleeping a lot, sorry for the late reply

The reply comes almost immediately, and Remus feels another squirm of guilt at the thought of Sirius obsessively checking his phone for a response.

 **Pads <3 (17:21): **moony! no no don’t apologise. how are you feeling? is there anything i can do??

 **You (17:24):** no it’s okay. Mostly just fibro pain, it’s fine [smiling face emoji]

 **Pads <3 (17:25): **i mean. that’s not fine.

 **Pads <3 (17:26): **prongs said he’s coming to yours tonight… would it be okay if i tagged along?? it’s completely okay if not, i understand [sparkling heart emoji]

Remus hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Whilst Sirius has seen him at some of his lowest points, both physically and mentally, James had been the one he’d called for a reason. There are some things that only James knows, that only James  _gets_  – James is one of the only people he can tell when he wants to be dead, when he wants to hurt himself, when everything is just Too Much. Remus likes to convince himself that it’s because Sirius already has so much on his plate, but that’s doing both he and James a disservice, because Sirius is stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and because James has a multitude of his own issues. Remus owes it to Sirius to  _try,_ he knows that – after how open and brave Sirius has been with him lately, it’s time for Remus to pluck up the courage to do the same.

But not tonight.

His heart is heavy with self-reproach as he taps out a response, and even though he  _knows_ Sirius will understand, it doesn’t stop the shame from mounting.

 **You (17:35):** I’m really sorry but I kind of need it to just be me and Prongs tonight? I’m so sorry

 **Padfoot <3 (17:36): **no no no! no need to be sorry, i understand. i love you and i’m here if there’s anything i can do [sparkling heart emoji] xoxo

The weight in his chest doesn’t shift, but Remus stares at the ‘i love you’ for the longest time; no matter how loudly his mind screams that he doesn’t deserve anything good, the words don’t change. Eventually, he dumps the phone back on the mattress, and then takes stock of his bedroom wearily. The blinds are still closed, it smells  _vile_ , and there are dirty clothes and empty crisp packets littering the floor, twisted around clumps of cat hair. The rest of the flat isn’t much better, he knows, because he just  _doesn’t have the energy_ for washing up or cleaning or even cooking any more. He is well aware that it’s not doing his mental health, nor his waistline, any favours, but if he cared about that enough, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

James is due in fifteen minutes, which regrettably isn’t long enough to turn his dank hellhole in to a socially acceptable abode, but James won’t care. James will  _understand._ But that doesn’t mean he can’t make it even a little bit more pleasant, and so he drags himself from his bed, drapes himself in a blanket, and cranks the windows open in the apartment.

Winky comes running at the sound of movement, and he lets the guilt consume him for a moment at how  _shit_ of a cat-dad he is being right now. But the kitten is more forgiving than he deserves, purring as she rubs against his feet, and he reaches down to scratch at her ears. He half-heartedly picks up a few takeout boxes and empty cans from the floor, and changes Winky’s litter tray, before there’s a knock at the door.

Anxiety, which has been dormant for a few hours in the place of an awful apathetic depression, surges over him at the thought of the conversation he has to have now. His chest is painfully tight as he moves towards the door, and his heart picks up pace with his breathing.

James looks tired as he opens the door, but he perks up the second he sees Remus, flinging his arms wide. “Moony!”

Remus steps in to his embrace, leaning his head against James’ shoulder with a sigh. James smells like jelly babies and birthday cake and fresh-cut grass, and it’s overwhelmingly familiar and comforting. It eases the frantic speed of his heart and loosens the bands around his body a little. James sighs too, resting a cheek against Remus’ head, and says, “fuck, I’ve missed you.” Remus suddenly realises that he hasn’t showered in five days ( _disgusting, useless, lazy fuck_ ), and steps back quickly, drawing James in to his apartment and closing the door.

“It’s been literally a week,” Remus points out, though he adds quietly “I’ve missed you too.”

James stoops down to pet Winky, even though it means he’ll be sneezing all night, and smiles up at Remus. “ _Exactly._ A  _week_ without my moonshine.” He stands again, rubs his already-reddening eyes, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the room. Remus starts to apologise, because now that another person is here, he can see just how bad it looks, but James shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No apologies necessary. You  _know_ I’ve been worse. Let’s clean up a bit though, yeah? It’ll help in the long run.”

Remus nods, ducking his head in embarrassment, and James presses a hand against Remus’ cheek, “stop spiralling. This is  _not_ your fault. D’you want to talk as we tidy, or d’you want to wait?”

Remus’ chest tightens in anxious anticipation. “Tell me about your day?” he says quietly, and James immediately obliges – of  _course_ he does, because this is James Potter, aka the best person he is blessed to know.

(He can’t help but feel awful at the fact that James has come from a long day at school, is obviously worn-out from a lack of sleep, and yet is now having to deal with his dysfunctional best friend. But he also knows that James would tackle him to the floor with a hug if he expressed any of that, and refuse to let him up until he relented).

(He knows this from experience).

Whipping a binbag from the cupboard under the sink, James begins to zip around the room, scooping up rubbish, with Remus trailing behind like a useless dead weight. Between the two of them (mostly James), they clear the room of trash, and James moves towards Remus’ bedroom to tackle that danger zone. Despite his best efforts, Remus’ movements are awkward and slow, because every time he twists, it sends shooting pains through his stiff limbs.

James catches him wincing as he exits the room with a grin, and his smile fades immediately. “Sit down,” he says sharply, and within seconds, Remus is cocooned in a blanket on the sofa with a heat pad pressed against his stomach. Winky bounds on to his lap moments later, preventing him from getting up again, and James looks irritatingly smug. Remus tries to protest as James goes back to cleaning, because he is truly Too Good for Remus, and James tells him to fuck off fondly.

When James finally declares his satisfaction, the flat is almost unrecognisable, and not just because the floor is visible. He flops down next to Remus, and tucks himself in to Remus’ side. (It’s different to how it is when Sirius does it; with Sirius, Remus thinks his heart might implode with bittersweet adoration, with James, it’s something equally warm, but without the unrequited romantic feelings).

Right on cue, there’s a tapping at the door, and Winky raises her head curiously as James hops up with far too much energy for a man who has just worked a ten-hour day. He returns with two pizza boxes, dropping one to the other side of Remus with an “it’s my treat.” Remus pops the lid to see a thick layer of cheese bubbling over golden mushrooms and roasted peppers, and his heart threatens to turn to the same consistency as the cheese.

“It’s kosher, don’t worry,” James says, already munching on his first slice.

“It’s not – you didn’t have to do this, Prongs.” His voice has gone embarrassingly croaky, and James fixes him with a stern look, only slightly ruined by the string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

(Remus swallows, and shoves down the voice that hisses that the last thing he should be eating is  _more_ takeout, that he’s already done enough damage with his depression binges, and that he doesn’t fucking deserve any of this. It’s easier to ignore with James pressed against his side than it was when he was alone and empty in his bed).

James keeps up a steady stream of chatter, chuckling at his own jokes as usual, and Remus soaks in his laughter, allowing it to sink in to his bones and gnaw away at his emptiness. Winky burrows further in to his lap, nosing the now-cold heat pad out of the way and replacing it with her own body heat. Her thrumming purrs as she naps go some way in settling his nerves. Eventually, their appetites sated, James turns to Remus with a more serious expression, and Remus’ heart sinks, even as his anxiety skyrockets.

“How do you want to do this?” James says gently, and Remus clenches his fists involuntarily. James’ eyes track the movement, and he says, “okay, maybe let’s start there?”

Remus forces himself to nod minutely, and the action is like a huge  _fuck you_ to the voices in his head – he physically feels, rather than hears, their clamouring and abuse falter for a moment, and it’s an oddly triumphant surge of satisfaction for such a small motion.

“Can I see your hands?” James says carefully. He waits for Remus’ assent, before gently turning Remus’ hands palm-upwards. Both of his hands cup one of Remus’, and the tenderness with which he’s being handled is enough to tug at his heart, because he  _is not worth such kindness._ James’ expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in the harsh red marks, though Remus knows him well enough to catch the slight tightening of his mouth. Eventually, he places them back in to Remus’ lap, and folds the blanket over them, and says neutrally, “it’s been a while since you last did that.”

Remus nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “I – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even register it until it was too late.”

“What made you do it?”

Remus blows out a long breath, and adjusts Winky’s position. “I was just – I was just so  _low_ and  _angry_ at myself. I just – I – I –“

“Breathe, Moony,” James says, tapping at Remus’ chest, and he nods distractedly.

“- I just wanted to hurt,” blurts Remus. “I wanted some kind of  _proof –_ that – that all this-“ he waves a hand around his head, “was  _real._ ”

“It  _is_ real,” James says immediately. “This shit is the realest thing you can feel.”

Remus unfurls his fingers, and stares down at the angry red marks. “I – I do – I  _know_ that. It just – I haven’t felt like this in a while. And it scared me.”

James is silent for a moment, and then says, “what else is going on in that brilliant brain of yours?”

“I’ve not been sleeping well,” Remus says finally, not meeting James’ unjudgmental gaze, because the compassion there will be  _too much_. “My fibro’s been… fucking awful lately. Pain all the fucking time. I can’t get out of bed and everything is just  _so_ much and I’m gaining weight like crazy and I feel like fucking shit all the fucking time.”

“That was a lot of ‘fucking’s” says James lightly. “Keep going.”

Remus takes a shallow breath. “I’m just – unhappy –“ he gets out, and even those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Because what does he have to be unhappy about, really? He has the best, most supportive friends imaginable, and sure, he’s in love with a man who is the actual definition of ‘deserves the world,’ but at least he gets to spend time with such a kind, funny and  _brilliant_ person. He has two jobs that aren’t completely awful and bosses who are understanding when he needs time off, and sure, both are dead-end jobs that leach the soul out of him the longer he stays there, but it’s an income.

(He knows – he  _does_ know this – that this isn’t how depression works, that mental illness doesn’t just take a holiday when life is treating you well, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it does happen).

“I don’t  _understand_ why this is happening. Nothing’s changed. I’m not doing anything  _differently._  It’s not supposed to be – I’m so  _tired._ ” His voice shakes and then cracks, and he swipes furiously at his eyes because he has  _no reason_ to cry about this, he’s not even sad, he’s just at the end of his fucking tether and he wants  _out._

James makes a slightly pained noise, and Remus realises with a jolt that his mouth is running a commentary of every self-deprecating and self-loathing thought in his mind. James’ arms have tightened around him, and Remus’ cheeks are wet, and it’s too much, it’s all – too much, he can’t, he can’t he can’t hecan’t –

The panic attack hits hard and fast – the only warning is the slight prickling in his fingertips, and then it’s like someone has sucked the very air from his lungs – he wants it to stop, he wants it  _all_ to stop. He’s vaguely aware of someone touching his shoulder, calling his name, holding his face, and he  _screams,_ wasting the last mouthful of precious air, because  _why won’t it stop._ His head spins from the lack of oxygen and he can’t breathe, but he welcomes the black dots in his vision, because perhaps that will make everything  _stop._

( _Please G-d, let everything stop_ ).

* * *

 

It takes James a full hour to calm him down, he’s told later. As it is, Remus finds himself facing a tense-looking James, whose usually tousled hair is in a state of utter disarray. It’s hard to focus on any single detail – it all feels like  _too much_ ; even the feeling of James’ fingers on his bare skin sends prickles of anxiety down his spine, and he shakes the contact off roughly.

James retracts a little further from Remus, too slow to hide the hurt in his eyes, and Remus  _could not feel guiltier if he tried_. “Sorry,” he manages, the words are too big and too clumsy but it’s all he can cope with right now – even that small effort feels Herculean.

“It’s okay,” James says immediately, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Remus mumbles, his eyes sliding shut.

There’s a pause, and then James sighs, and it’s an exhausted, sad sound that makes Remus’ heart pang, because  _defeat_  is not a word in the James Potter handbook, but that noise sounded a hell of a lot like it. “Can I ask some difficult and kind of shitty questions?” James says softly, and even though Remus knows what’s coming – despite everything in him shouting the opposite – he nods.

James blows out a long breath. “Okay. Are you depressed?”

It’s easier to be honest with his eyes closed, because at least then he doesn’t have to meet James’ concerned and caring eyes. He shuts off the reminders that he has  _nothing_ to be depressed about, and nods again.

“Do you want to hurt yourself?”

Another nod.

Another pause.

“Do you want to die?”

And isn’t that the question? Because Remus knows what it’s like to actively want to die – to feel ready to make that happen –  _to_ make that happen. He also knows what it’s like to want to not exist – because the two aren’t the same thing at all. There’s a difference between the passivity of not caring what happens to you when you step in to the road, and stepping out in to busy traffic deliberately. Using past experiences as a measure of ‘wellness’ isn’t perhaps the best option, given his track record, but he  _thinks_ he’s more the former of the two. Things aren’t  _all_ bad  _all_ the time; there are pockets of happiness, when he can laugh and smile without feeling like he’s just used up all his energy to do so. Messages from his friends still make his heart warm, and spending time with them – provided he’s not in the mood where all he does is leech the  _good_  from the room – is a sure-fire way to make him feel loved. But at the same time –

He thinks back to the nights where he’s been to empty to even  _cry_ about how utterly shit he feels. The mornings where he can’t get out of bed for wanting to just  _not_ exist. The afternoons where he should be cleaning and working and  _living,_ but instead is just praying to G-d that He will make it stop. He doesn’t pray often, he isn’t even sure if he  _believes_ in G-d, but he  _does_ know that the interludes of contentment are not enough to outweigh the awful sinking feeling in his chest that everything would be better if he were just – dead.

(And doesn’t that feel like the most selfish admission in the world?)

As much as James  _does_ understand what it’s like to be so low that ending everything feels like the only way out, James is the one who came to  _them_ , trembling with nerves and wringing his hands.  _James_ is the bravest person he knows – often to the point of reckless gallantry, but that means he does not – cannot – understand what it’s like to be too afraid to admit what’s happening to you.

He’s been silent for too long – a mentally well person doesn’t have to stop and think about that answer at all, which says everything that he’s not able to.

“Can I hug you?” asks James, in a too-fragile, too-sad voice, and Remus aches to not be the one who caused it. Instead, all he can do his nod again, and a pair of arms wrap around him gently, tugging him against a warm, solid chest. James’ lips press against his unwashed curls, and Remus feels his chest hitch at the tenderness in the motion. “It’s going to be okay,” James says just as gently. “You’re not doing this alone. I’ve got you.”

Remus remembers saying the same words when their roles were reversed, and a sob rises in his throat at the memories of nights with James curled over a toilet seat and tears dripping in to the bowl, the unexplained absences after mealtimes and the permanent stench of cleaning product that hovered in the bathroom, the stockpiling of Jammy Dodgers that would disappear overnight every couple of weeks. James was never – could never be – a burden to them, but something in him won’t let him apply that same logic to himself, because the  _last_ thing he  _ever_  wants to be to his friends, is a burden.

Just as Remus had let James cry for as long as he had needed all those years ago, so too does James, and it’s only when Remus is all-cried-out (tears drying blotchily on his flushed cheeks, snot smeared under his nose and glistening on his arms) that James speaks again, his tone resolute.

“You and I are going to the doctor’s tomorrow morning first thing. This can’t go on.”

Whilst these are the words Remus has half been longing to hear, half been afraid of, he is nothing if not self-sabotaging, which makes him protest: “No – you have work,  _I_ have work-“

“This is  _a thousand times more important_ than work, Moony. I would choose  _you_  over any commitment every fucking time.  _When_ are you going to understand that?” He doesn’t give Remus time to answer, probably because he  _knows_ that Remus will give him some bullshit response about not deserving that kind of friendship, and instead ploughs on, “I can’t  _make_ you go. I just – I want you to care about yourself as much as you care about everyone else-“

“I’ll go, I think – I want to go,” Remus says, surprising even himself. James gapes at him for a second, and then swallows down the rest of his arguments.

“I – you – seriously?”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself,” Remus says, and the honesty hurts like pulling teeth with a string and a door knob, but it’s the  _truth._

“You’re not going to be by yourself. I’ll be with you the whole way, if you’ll let me.”

Remus swallows, and blinks back fresh tears, before nodding. James makes a pleased humming sound that Remus feels in James’ chest as he pulls him in for another hug. “I’m so, so proud of you, Moonbeam,” he whispers seriously.

(There’s nothing to be proud of yet, he wants to say. I haven’t done the hard part yet, don’t be proud of me for  _finally_ admitting I need help,  _again_ ) –

“The hardest part was telling someone,” James continues, and Remus almost flinches at how well James knows him. “And you told me. You reached out for help – you would never have done that five years ago, and you know it. Cut yourself some slack, there is no shame in this.”

Remus nods – objectively, he knows this, it’s something he’s told his friends repeatedly after all, but in his current state it’s not something he can process. “What now?” he asks instead.

James takes the change of subject in his stride. “I vote that first you shower, because I love you, but you smell, and then we order more food and watch some happy shit until one or both of us falls asleep.”

Remus smiles in spite of himself. There are no words strong enough to describe how grateful he is to have a friend like James: unfathomably kind and strong, passionately protective of his loved ones, but also bluntly straightforward.

* * *

“Do you want me to invite the others over?” James suggests tentatively, once Remus emerges from the shower, feeling marginally less shit and a whole lot cleaner, and wearing something that isn’t pyjamas for the first time in several days.

Remus shrugs, “maybe just Padfoot and Wormtail? If you think they’ll want to.”

“On it,” says James, already tapping out a message to them both. “Don’t be stupid, of course they’ll want to.” Before Remus has time to argue, James grins up at him. “What am I ordering?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t,” Remus says automatically, shoving a threadbare cushion in front of his stomach, as if he’s only just become aware of it.

“Bull. Shit.”

“Prongs-“

“Is this your fucking doctor again?”

Remus looks down awkwardly, hating the view that this gives him. “Don’t you think it’s better to listen to the ‘fucking doctor’ who actually knows what he’s talking about?”

“Not if he’s trying to fat-shame you, then no.”

“He’s not – it’s not like that.”

James looks both indignant and frustrated, but he lets it go (for now), apparently deciding that he should pick his battles tonight. “Well, I’m ordering Chinese, and there will be enough for four, should you change your mind.”

Sirius and Peter arrive together minutes before the food. Peter is gentle as usual, pecking his cheek and folding him in to a warm hug, before pulling back and signing  _I love you_ without breaking eye contact. Remus responds in kind, and Peter  _beams_  the sunniest of smiles, before stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. Sirius holds his shoulders briefly and scans him in concern – Remus deliberately doesn’t curl his hands to hide the mess he’s made of his palms, and he sees the moment when Sirius catches it, but Sirius says nothing about it. Instead he hugs him fiercely, and murmurs, “I love you  _so_ much, Moony. You’re so fucking important to me.”

Remus nods, the emotion in his throat too much to use actual words, and allows himself to be pulled in to a cuddle pile on the sofa, tucked in to Sirius’ chest, his feet on James’ lap, and Peter massaging his aching muscles one at a time. There’s a brief but heated discussion about the movie choice, because some movies are frankly, shit, when you’re Hard of Hearing, Peter tells them, and James vetoes anything Disney, because he is already inundated with it at school, but eventually they settle on  _Matilda._ They’re barely a third of the way through before the day’s emotional rollercoaster catches up to Remus, and he feels his eyelids drooping shut. Sirius leans down and whispers, “sleep. We’re here, I’ve got you,” and it’s like it was the permission he needed.

(He is still depressed, and self-loathing, and passively suicidal. But he has a support system that he could never have dreamed of years ago. He has the best friends in the world, who would bend over backwards to make him smile, he is warm and safe and fed, tomorrow he will start afresh with recovery, and most importantly: he doesn’t have to do it alone).

* * *

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Let’s play a game called how many times can I make these chapters end in a cuddle pile, junk food and a movie?  
> \- Let’s play a second game called how much can Rachel project her issues on to her fave characters before it becomes a therapy session?  
> \- Sirius isn’t really in this one, though I’m not sorry because platonic and supportive friendships are just as important as romantic ones.  
> \- James is in recovery from bulimia, because men suffering from eating disorders doesn’t get talked about nearly enough, and for men of colour it’s even worse. 
> 
> If y’all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!
> 
> You are all deserving of love and support, no matter how much worse you think it could be, or how well you think you’re coping. You’re a fighter, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.  
> Love always & take care xoxo


	8. "Take my seat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for discussions around mental health, depression, disordered eating, anxiety, self harm and suicidal ideation.

It’s not a restful sleep; Sirius wakes up with a jolt of panic at least three times – a panic that buzzes fiercely in his chest until he sees all three of his friends safe and sound beside him. Remus’ bed is not a double, because his tiny flat’s tiny bedroom will not logistically allow it, which means that they are curled tightly around each other to avoid dangling off the edge.  Each time Sirius wakes, his eyes dart first to Remus, sprawled in a different position, as though he’s tossed and turned in a fitful sleep.

Remus has always been the exception to the cliché that people look young and untroubled in sleep – if anything, he appears older, because the premature crinkles around his eyes and across his forehead catch shadows, and slithers of light dance across his hair, giving the impression of silvery-grey strands. Sirius reaches out to brush Peter’s hair out of Remus’ mouth, and has to resist the urge to press his palm against Remus’ cheek, to hold him and refuse to let go until he is sure that nothing else will try and hurt him.

_How did you miss this?_ echoes through his mind for the thousandth time that night, and he has to breathe a little deeper a little longer each time, because what in the ever-loving _fuck_ was so important that he didn’t see how much his best friend was struggling to keep afloat.   

( _Nothing,_ his mind supplies, _there is no excuse for this, there is nothing more important_ ).

Sirius closes his eyes against the barrage of self-flagellation, only it’s inside him, it’s everywhere, and he can’t seem to shut it out, and besides, he was a shit enough friend that he missed this so he deserves every scrap of punishment his mind can summon up –

His brain scrambles suddenly, and he backtracks – because therapy is finally making enough of a splash that he can recognise the emotional abuse that led to this line of thinking – and he forces himself to reassess. Yes, he missed out on the fact that Remus was suffering, and yes, he is allowed to feel guilty about that for as long as he needs to ( _it will never be enough_ ), because his feelings _matter_ , damn it.

But that doesn’t mean he needs to punish himself. That doesn’t mean he _deserves_ punishment.

The burst of pride he feels at such a simplistic statement is simultaneously irritating and heartfelt, because he hates that it’s taken him twenty years to come to this conclusion… but at the same time, he’s worked so damn _hard_ to get here, and he refuses to let his parents ruin yet another thing for him.

_Why_ don’t you deserve punishment? He hears the question rather than thinks it – and it’s the soft and gentle tone of his therapist. He keeps his eyes closed as he begins to list his reasons, but the warm weight of his friends’ sleeping bodies keeps him grounded, and he rests his hand lightly on Peter’s shoulder as an extra anchor.

_One,_ you’ve had a lot going on recently – with the job, moving house, dealing with your – stuff. It’s understandable that you have been so focussed on yourself.

_Two,_ Remus didn’t _want_ to tell you – he didn’t want to tell anyone. He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions, and you have to respect that.

_Three,_ you are here _now,_ when Remus needs you, and that is what matters most.

_Four,_ you will do better in the future. You will support Remus through this, and you will not make it about you feeling guilty.

He usually stops at four in his sessions, because four is his lucky number and because any more than that is a struggle. But today there’s another thought that floats up above all the rest, sucking every other reason up and swelling in size until it’s the only one he can pay attention to.

_Five, you don’t deserve to suffer_.

It’s like something shifts in to place in his mind – like a shaft in a mill turning to let sunshine beam through, or two puzzle pieces slotting together perfectly. It’s nothing that hasn’t been said to him by his friends, by teachers, by nurses and doctors, by the _world_ , but that’s not the same as coming to a conclusion on your own. The perpetual weight in his chest lightens a fraction, and this time when the pride surges through him, he _lets_ it.

( _You don’t deserve to suffer –_ not at the hands of someone else, nor by your own hands, you deserve compassion and respect like anybody else does. Just because life dealt you a shitty hand, just because you grew up believing you were worthless, just because you’ve been conditioned to expect punishment for your mistakes – none of it means that you deserve to suffer).

He knows that just because he’s had this breakthrough now, it doesn’t negate the years of abuse he was put through – the rest of it will not be plain sailing. He knows that there will still be things he cannot stop beating himself up over, his father will still hurl abuse at him inside his head, he will still fear conflict more than anything else. But after years of on-and-off therapy and self-love and relearning how to function – after the shitshow that his parents put him through months ago – he deserves to let himself feel proud.

It’s the kind of thing he’s itching to tell the others, because he knows that they will understand the significance of this and there are few things in the world as wonderful as James’ proud, tear-filled eyes directed his way (except perhaps Remus’ smile). He’s half-way to waking James up, before he catches himself, and perspective comes crashing down around him like a burning building.

The bags under James’ eyes, usually hidden behind his glasses, are trench-deep in his skin and bruised grey with exhaustion. He has to be up for work in an hour – because Remus will _not_ let him skip work for him – and he needs every single second of sleep he can muster. Peter, too, has been pulling _ridiculous_ hours what with fashion week just around the corner, his tiredness only visible in his half-formed signing and increased reliance on lip-reading. As for Remus – well, that isn’t an option.

No, Sirius will keep this to himself until there’s a better time – because there will be a better time. He tucks the warm glowing feeling away in his chest, where it glows softly against the darkness of his demons, and slides out of bed as gently as possible.

Sirius drags the holey blanket from the sofa in the living area, and wraps it around himself like a cloak; even in summer, Remus’ apartment is fucking freezing because he can’t afford to have the heating on. Winky is just yawning and stretching herself out as he makes himself a cup of coffee, and he sets her food down, before beginning to scan Remus’ cupboards for something he can make breakfast from.

There are not a lot of options – the bread has become a breeding ground, the milk is sour, there’s an almost empty packet of pasta and an unopened pouch of rice. Sirius has gotten used to James and Lily’s cupboards, which are always fully stocked with foods from all over the world and exciting spices. The sight of Remus’ sad, bare kitchen makes his chest hurt a little, but it’s not unexpected.

Instead, he decides to nip to the nearest café for some breakfast, using the walk there to make a list on his phone of everything that needs stocking up. It’s early; the sun is only just inching up in to the sky, the birds are barely beginning their chorus, and there are very few people about, but Sirius kind of loves the peace. As much as he loves London, his anxiety does not, and the constant hustle and bustle, pushing and shoving, and general _business_ of the capital gives him the kind of anxious knot in his stomach that only a quiet, calm morning can relieve.

By the time he’s leaving the café, a parcel full of pastries in his hands, it’s almost time for the others to be getting up for work. He lets himself in to the flat, noting with a frown that the lock is _still_ broken, and, upon hearing movement from Remus’ bedroom, hurries to make tea and coffee for them all. He busies himself arranging the pastries in an aesthetically pleasing way and is distracted enough that Remus is only a few steps away when Sirius finally notices him.

He still looks exhausted and sad and stressed, and Sirius’ heart still aches to see him like this, but as Sirius wraps him in a good morning cuddle, he presses his face in to Sirius’ shoulder, and mumbles fondly, “good morning, love.”

Sirius’ heart jumps joyfully, both at the term of endearment and at the warmth in his tone. “Morning,” he returns, “how did you sleep?”

“Better,” Remus says as he steps away. He goes to a drawer and pulls out his medication, swallowing them dry, then bends down to scratch Winky’s ears. “How about you?”

“I always sleep better with you,” Sirius says without thinking, and there’s a pause before he realises what he’s said. It’s not even strictly true, given last night’s fitful sleep, but Remus is staring at him with a kind of grateful awe, and it’s so beautiful that Sirius forgets that he was about to backtrack everything, and just stares back at Remus.

“Padfoot, you are an _angel,_ ” Peter says loudly as he walks in, and makes a beeline for the coffeepot. He looks unfairly good for someone who has shared a single bed with three other grown men – his skin is glowing from the shower and he’s smiling brightly. Meanwhile, Sirius feels like a bedraggled hobgoblin with his hair a messy bush and his eyes blurry with exhaustion.

But he appreciates that Peter is focusing on the normalcy of the situation, and so he tries to match that energy. “I know,” he says, grinning, “can I interest you in pastries?” He’s barely finished signing before Peter has two pastries in his hands, and child-like delight in his eyes.

“I fucking _love_ you,” he says through a mouthful of baked goods, and Sirius can’t help but laugh.

 “I love you too,” he says, biting in to his own pastry, and accepting the inevitable explosion of pastry flakes on his chin.

“And _I_ love _you_ all,” says James in a sing-song voice as he enters. He’s still half-dressed, his shirt buttons are misaligned and he’s only wearing one sock, but he’s his usual smiling self, in spite of the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He wraps an arm around Remus’ waist, and asks him, “have you eaten?”

“Have you?” Remus retorts, sounding more like his usual self, but he still grudgingly accepts a cinnamon swirl.

James shoots him a tight-lipped smile in response, reaching instead for a cup of tea, and Sirius can’t help the pang of worry that adds to the shackles around his chest. He catches Remus’ equally-concerned eyes for a second – and it feels almost like the old days, where they were united against James’ demons, but then James clears his throat, and the moment has passed.

“So. The plan for today.” He takes a gulp of tea, and says, “we need to get to a doctor’s.”

“ _We_ don’t need to do anything,” says Remus in such an even manner that Sirius can tell he’s practiced this, “I’m more than capable of taking myself to a doctor’s, and you have to go to work. As do _you,_ ” he turns to Peter just as he’s opening his mouth, and Peter closes it again, looking sheepish.

“Like I said last night,” James says, and though his tone is calm, Sirius can hear the strain of worried frustration beneath the surface. “I can take a day. This is more important.”

Remus sighs, and absent-mindedly takes a muffin from the platter. “I beg to differ,” he says quietly. Sirius’ heart sears with a sudden sad ache, and before he can stop himself, he steps forward to wrap an arm around Remus – as though he can pour his love and care in to Remus through touch alone. To his relief, Remus leans in to him a little, and he tightens his grip further.

“Please let me come with you.” Sirius says, his voice is soft but in the quiet early morning stillness, all of them can hear every word. Remus frowns, and makes to pull away, but Sirius holds tight. “I have zero commitments today, and it’s a shit thing to have to do alone.” What he doesn’t add, is the thought that he knows is coursing through James’ and Peter’s minds too: _I’m scared you won’t make a big enough deal out of this if you go alone. I’m scared you’ll downplay it and things will get so much worse._

There’s a long pause, in which Remus stares at the floor, folding and unfolding his muffin wrapper. Sirius can’t see his undoubtedly tumultuous eyes, but he watches the motion of Remus’ fingers obsessively. He doesn’t need to look to know that Peter and James are the same.

“Okay,” Remus says, even more quietly, and Sirius feels something in his chest _give_ , like a ceiling buckling under pressure. Tears prick the corners of his eyes unexpectedly, and he is _so_ fucking _grateful_ that for once in his life, Remus is letting himself be helped, so _proud_ that Remus is letting them in, so _overwhelmed_ that he wraps himself fully around Remus, and mumbles “thank you, thank you,” in his ear. A warm, pillowy weight against his back tells him that Peter is joining the cuddle fest, and James’ long arms stretch over them all seconds later. It’s Sirius’ all-time favourite place to be – tucked amongst his friends, in a circle of affection and support – and it gives him the kind of warmth in his heart that fills him to the brim and overflows in to a giddily happy smile.

Even the jarring sound of James’ ringtone that cuts through the peace minutes later cannot pierce him. James answers the call with a “hey _bhanvaraa_ , how are you?” before he makes a hasty but apologetic departure, and Peter follows close behind. Both make Sirius and Remus swear to keep them updated before they leave, and Remus manages to force a pastry in to James’ hands with a pleading expression, which further uncoils Sirius’ anxiety.

Within a half hour, the two of them are rocking with the motions of the train that will carry them to the surgery. It’s crammed with the morning rush, and the crowdedness necessitates their close proximity. They stand in a comfortable silence (or as comfortable as Sirius ever feels in a crowd), and he watches Remus’ anxious hand-twisting and lip-biting with a sad kind of resignation. When his nails move to the soft flesh of his forearms and begin a harsh, scraping motion, however, he reaches out and snags Remus’ hands in his own. Their fingers intertwine automatically, and Remus leans his head in to Sirius’ shoulder. They look like a couple (and a damned cute one too, if you ask Sirius), and the thought momentarily makes Sirius’ heart leap with a delighted joy, before he remembers their current situation, and that the last thing Remus needs is a boyfriend right now.

When they step off the train, the crowd carries them down the platform and in to the streets, and they join the stream of people headed to the surgery. It’s already bustling with patients, and the sight of the lengthy queue makes Sirius’ chest tight with panic, because _what if they can’t get an appointment?_ Every inch they shuffle forward reduces the likelihood of seeing someone today, and _they need to see someone today._ He can feel himself getting worked up but is powerless to stop it – he can’t vocalise it to Remus because, well, this is _for_ Remus, and it’s an enormous relief when they finally reach the front of the queue.

“Sirius,” Remus says suddenly, and Sirius starts in surprise, because up until now, Remus has been stoically silent. “Sirius, I can’t – can you do the talking?”

“Of course,” he says at once, because he would do _anything_ to ease the anxious clenching of Remus’ jaw. He recognises that Remus _must_ be anxious to ask such a thing of him – Remus knows that requesting assistance from others makes Sirius anxious to the point of stuttering and shaking – and the gravity of the situation weighs even heavier on his shoulders.

The receptionist is a young, smiling redhead, though her smile doesn’t extend past her lips. “How can I help you today?”

“We need an appointment as soon as possible,” Sirius says, leaning on the counter to hide the anxious tapping of his fingers.

“The earliest I can get you in for is….” She sighs, hits a few keys, and continues, “a week on Tuesday.”

Sirius feels his hackles rise, and he has to take a deep breath before he can trust himself not to snap at her. The words are still a great deal harsher than he would like, but at least it gets his point across. “No. A week is way too long.”

Remus tugs on Sirius’ sleeve. “A week is fine, Padfoot,” he says in a low voice, and Sirius shakes him off.

“No, it’s not fine,” he insists.

“Is it an emergency?” The receptionist asks, and though her voice is trained to be kind, her eyes are sweeping a judgement up and down Remus’ body, and Sirius _bristles_. He would never be able to do this for himself, but he’ll be _damned_ before he lets Remus be brushed aside like this doesn’t matter, because it _fucking matters_.

“Yes,” he says firmly, and Remus starts beside him.

“ _Sirius_ -“ he begins.

“It’s an emergency,” Sirius affirms, and the woman casts another curious eye over Remus.

“What _kind_ of emergency?” she asks, all pretence at pleasantry gone, and Sirius feels the anger rise up inside him like a volcano ready to blow, because _how dare she_?

His next words are tight with fiercely-controlled ire. “You have no right to ask that.”

Remus puts a hand on Sirius wrist, and loosely wraps his fingers around it. The coolness of his palm draws Sirius’ attention to how tightly he’s clenching the counter, and he withdraws his grip with aching digits. “It’s a mental health crisis,” Remus says to the receptionist, and Sirius _hates_ the defeat in his voice, _hates_ the tired acceptance that mental health patients are treated like _shit_ by neurotypicals too nosy and entitled to know better.

 The receptionist has gone very quiet, looking Remus up and down once more. This time there’s a little more softness in her gaze, and the pity she’s emanating makes Sirius’ blood boil.  “Very well,” she says at last, and passes him a scarlet form. “Complete this, bring it back, and we’ll call you when there’s a spot.”

Sirius snatches it from her before she can say anything else problematic, and drags Remus back to the waiting area, where he scribbles Remus’ information in the boxes. It occurs to him that there are few people in the world who would be able to do this for him without asking for clarification, but _he_ is one of those people. The thought makes his heart ache, but he forces himself back to the present – back to where his best friend is having a mental health crisis, and he could have fucking _missed_ it.

Once the paperwork is completed, there’s an indeterminate waiting period, and the two of them slump in to the lumpy armchairs with resignation. After thirty minutes, the anxiety fades a little, to be replaced by a mounting boredom. Eventually Sirius swings himself up, “I’m going to get supplies. Do you want anything?” He’s unsurprised when Remus shakes his head, but buys him a hot chocolate and muffin anyway, along with a coffee for himself. Once he’s returned, the boredom sets in once more, and he has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from doing an Annoying Talking Donkey and smacking his lips every five seconds.

“I spy with my little eye… something beginning with ‘f’?” he says hopefully, leaning against Remus, who rolls his eyes, but plays along.

“Floor?”

“Nope,” Sirius sits up a little straighter.

“Flu?” Remus says, nodding his head at a small sickly child with snot dribbling from its nose.

“Nope, but nice one.”

“Friend?” Remus pokes his knee, and Sirius’ heart scrunches happily at the sentiment.

Sirius shakes his head but captures Remus’ hand in his and squeezes.

Remus sighs, “flowers?”

“Nah.”

Remus leans against Sirius, casting his gaze around the room. Sirius watches his face intently, because he always loves the moment Remus _gets_ it, like a lamp lighting up, and Remus says triumphantly, “fire exit.”

Sirius makes a _ding-ding-ding_ noise, and the next twenty minutes is an increasingly competitive game of i-spy, with their objects becoming more and more obscure. Briefly, things are _normal_ , and Sirius can pretend that they’re just two mentally-stable, happy friends chilling together. They finally call it a draw when Remus stumps Sirius with _something beginning with ‘b’_ and the silence between them settles once more.

They play on their phones for an hour or so, and Sirius is going out of his mind. The vibration in his pocket is a welcome distraction from – _nothing –_ but a text from James’ father makes him groan a little too loud for a doctor’s waiting room, and several heads spin to stare at him.

**Papa Prongs <3: **Morning, _mere laal_! Wedding update: we need to add another 14 seats to the ceremony – Prongs’ third cousins have announced they are gracing us with their presence! Joy! Love you, _Baabaa_ xxx

Sirius tucks the phone back in his shirt pocket, along with the warmth the term of endearment brings. “What’s wrong?” Remus asks, tipping his head on to Sirius’ shoulder, and Sirius immediately tucks an arm around Remus’ shoulders to draw him closer.

“Ugh, Potter family drama - just wedding stuff,” Sirius says, and Remus frowns.

“Why, what needs doing?” He doesn’t make eye contact, but the fact that he’s engaging at all is a plus in Sirius’ books.

“What _doesn’t_ need doing?” Sirius says dramatically, slumping against Remus with a theatrical sigh. He’s exaggerating, but the stress he’s feeling is real. When James and Lily had first announced that they were doing a ‘wedding mash-up’ between their cultures (“but Lily, white people don’t _have_ culture, they just steal everyone else’s **,** ” Alice had teased), Sirius had fallen in love with the idea, hard. The idea of _two_ ceremonies – _two_ opportunities to celebrate two of the best people he knows – had sounded like a dream; had he known how _complicated_ it was all going to be, he might have tried to talk James out of it.

James’ parents are largely taking care of the Indian side of the ceremony – thank God, because Sirius may have been essentially adopted in to a Hindu family, but that didn’t mean he felt qualified to make those kind of arrangements – and Lily’s family are handling the Catholic side, but he still has to make them _mesh._ He still has to organise James’ stag night, sort out the whole _rings_ aspect, ensure everybody feels comfortable in their outfits – and a million and one other things, the most overwhelming of which is the best man’s speech.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Remus asks, dragging Sirius out of his spiral of panic.

Sirius stares at him, wondering how anyone can be so selfless. “No, love, you – you focus on _you,_ please.”

“I hate seeing you stressed,” Remus mumbles, his frown lines deepening.

“You must hate seeing me then,” Sirius chuckles – he’s (half) joking, but Remus looks genuinely distressed by the idea.

“ _Never_. You’re the highlight of my day. Always,” Remus says forcefully, and Sirius is momentarily _floored_ by Remus and his loveliness. The sentiment wraps a golden warmth around his heart, and nestles in his ribcage, where it melts away at the cold anxiety hiding there.

He’s saved from responding by a nurse calling Remus’ name, and Remus gets to his feet unsteadily, his nerves making his hands tremble at his sides. Sirius leaps to his feet too, grabbing Remus’ wrist before he can move away.

“Do you want me to come too?”

Remus bites his lip, and then shakes his head. “Thank you. But I think I need to do this myself.”

“Are you sure?” As much as he doesn’t want to _push_ , he’s terrified that Remus is going to understate the situation – that the doctor will just let him walk out of the office without any kind of support in place, at least if he’s _in there_ , he will be able to _make sure_ –

“No, I – it’s easier to be honest if you’re not there too,” Remus admits, ducking his head, and Sirius’ breath catches in his throat at how _much_ Remus is trying to protect him from himself and he wishes he wouldn’t, but he knows he has to respect Remus’ wishes.

“I’m _so_ proud of you,” Sirius whispers instead of protesting, pressing his forehead against Remus’, and Remus closes his eyes against the praise. Sirius presses a quick kiss to Remus’ cheek, admiring the pink that blossoms there afterwards. “I love you. You can do it.”

“Love _you,_ ” Remus returns.

Watching Remus follow the nurse out of the waiting room shouldn’t feel like he’s sending him in to a war zone. It shouldn’t plunge his stomach in to an icy grip or tauten the bands around his chest even tighter. The anxiety bubbles and simmers in his stomach as he sits back down, and his fingers tingle ominously – he can’t wait here like this.

Desperate for something to do with his hands, he pulls out his phone for the colour-by-numbers app that makes everything in his head a little less _loud_ , but –

His lock screen is a photo taken by Marlene at Diwali; he and Remus are stood close together, with Remus’ head resting on Sirius’ shoulder, their faces tilted upwards and lit by golden fireworks. Again, he’s struck by how much the two of them look like a couple – even their arms are entwined, and Sirius has this embarrassingly sappy gleam in his eyes – he can’t believe it took him so long to realise he was in love with Remus.

He shakes himself out of it when he realises he’s brushing a finger over the dimple in Remus’ cheek, opens up an app **,** and forces himself to breathe as he fills tiny squares with colour. The petals of the lotus flower he’s shading are only half-done before he gives up, because it’s not _working._

Remus has been in the doctor’s room for almost twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of wasted worry-time. ( _Stop wasting time, you useless shit_ ).

He could use this time for wedding planning – lord knows there’s enough to be keeping him busy, what with catering and clothes and centrepieces to consider. (Lily had sent him a list of floral arrangements yesterday morning with a _HELP!!!!_ attached to the email that he’s yet to reply to). Or he could get some work done for the next issue of the magazine of which _he’s_ supposed to be designing a two-fold spread (the enormity of this responsibility is not lost on him, and he’s _grateful_ and _overwhelmed_ and _so_ very lucky, but, in true procrastinator style, he knows he will not begin designs until at least next week). Or he could compose a reply to his brother’s Facebook message, which he’d finally plucked up the courage to open three nights ago, only several months after it was sent.

(The message is just as stiff and formal as his brother has always been, but it’s not unpleasant. In fact, the formality stirs some kind of comfortable familiarity in his chest, recalling childhood days of playing knights and cowboys and soldiers together in the sunshine).

_(Regulus: Dear Sirius. I would like to apologise that I have not contacted you sooner. I was uncertain that you would welcome my contact, and I feared that even if I found you, I would not receive a response. I am sorry for everything that was said to you, and the way that you were treated, not just in June, but your whole life. Our parents have not been fair to you. I have not been fair to you. I am endeavouring to change, though you have no reason to believe me, and I understand fully if you do not. I have no right to ask your forgiveness, but I hope that one day, you may find it in your heart to allow me back in to your life. I hope you are well, my dear brother. I have not informed anyone that I have contacted you. Please take care of yourself. Your brother, Regulus)._

(He can’t explain how the message makes him feel – there’s a hurt anger at the memories of the life he used to live and the abuse he faced for so long, there’s a longing ache for the man he once considered his fiercest ally, and a sharp grief at the way their relationship now lies in tatters. And of course, as there always is, the anxiety that it’s a trick, that his parents are using Regulus to get to him, that if he messages back it will only end in disappointment and heartbreak once more…)

(He hasn’t replied yet and doesn’t know when he will feel able to. He’s trying to be okay with that).

The point is – he can’t _fucking function_ whilst the love of his life is struggling with something so huge and so horrible, and insisting on doing it _alone_ – is love supposed to be _this_ stressful?

“Hey,” a soft voice accompanies a gentle touch on his arm, and Sirius jumps violently as Remus plops down next to him. “You alright?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Sirius says, eyes snapping to the green prescription form, the yellow follow-up appointment card, and the pink referral forms all clamped in Remus’ grip. He’s not lying, the anxiety recedes even just at the sight of him **,** even though he looks so exhausted that a gust of wind might knock him down. “How was it?”

Remus hesitates, and Sirius catches the way his lashes are clinging together, the pinkness of his sclera, and the way he’s almost bitten _through_ his lip from chewing on it so hard. “Can we go somewhere else?” he says eventually. “And just _talk_?”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

 

They fill Remus’ prescription, then end up at Fortescue’s, because they’re nothing if not creatures of habit, and Sirius orders them both chocolatey monstrosities.

“You need to stop feeding me sugary shit,” Remus says with a wry smile, and it’s a weak attempt at humour, but it’s an attempt nonetheless.

“Never. That would violate clause twelve of our Best Friend Contract.” Sirius reaches across and bops his nose lightly with a teaspoon. The dimpled smile he gets back gives him a happy glow in his chest that counters the cold of the ice cream. “So. Let’s talk?”

Remus plays for time, scooping his spoon through all three flavours of ice-cream and letting them melt in his mouth. He swirls his flake around the blob of cream, smearing it across the bowl, and then looks up at Sirius. “I don't know where to start.”

Sirius bites his lip, because there are a million questions that he's trying to contain, but he knows Remus needs to do this at his own pace. They eat in a tense silence, until Remus finally clears his throat.

“It's been - I've been deteriorating for months,” he admits, his eyes still on his bowl. “Every time my fibro flared up, it all got a little bit worse, but I didn't - I couldn't -” Remus fist clenches around his spoon, and Sirius instantly wraps both his hands around it, forcing his grip looser so that the metal stops biting in to Remus’ skin. Remus takes a breath and continues. “And it just never got better again. It's not that I was _trying_ to hide it from you all. It's just - so much _easier_ to hide it? And I didn't even realise myself how bad things were getting until I caught myself stockpiling meds and skipping work, and then it was just so _much_ to do anything about it? And even though I _know_ it's not true, it would have felt like I was burdening you all and I just - I'm _tired_ of being a burden.”

Sirius and Remus have discussed mental health before - over the years of their friendship and considering their respective mental illnesses, it's a topic that has arisen frequently. But, Sirius realises with a jolt, how many of those conversations have focused on _his_ mental health, how little Remus really talks about his own struggles. In fact, the last _real_ talk they'd had about it must have been a few years ago, when Remus had been dealing with a patch of extremely severe anxiety and was unable to leave the house. Remus just _doesn't_ rely on people, except occasionally James, which is something that Sirius, as an extrovert who _needs_ people like he needs oxygen, has always found difficult to comprehend.

He licks his lips nervously, “you’re never a –“

“I _know,_ ” Remus says quickly, trying to smile reassuringly but it fades too fast. “I’m just tired of being the one who always needs help.”

 Sirius wants to deny the statement – because more than anything, it’s not true; Sirius himself needs help on a daily basis to remember that people actually _like_ him, James still screws up his meal plans, almost all of them have mental health issues to some degree which mean that they need to lean on each other more often than not. But he also doesn’t know how to negate it without implying that needing help is a bad thing because _it’s not_. Needing help and being able to ask for it is the mark of a truly strong person, and Remus is the strongest person he knows.

He tries a different approach, because he knows how uneasy it makes Remus to be described as ‘strong.’ “If it were any of _us_ , if it were _me,_ you wouldn’t think like that.”

There’s a pause, in which Remus stares at his hands, with the conflict evident on his face. “I know,” he says at last, “but you know my brain can’t wrap itself around that.”

_I know,_ Sirius screams internally, _I know, and I hate it, and if there were just one thing I could change about you, if I could do just_ one _thing to lighten your load, it would be the acceptance that you deserve the same love you give to everyone else._ He doesn’t say any of it though, because they’ve had this argument countless times before, and because it won’t do any good – he may love Remus with everything he has, but he is no therapist.

“It doesn’t matter why you didn’t tell us then,” Sirius says instead, squeezing Remus’ hands. “But I’m so sorry that you didn’t feel able to –“

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says immediately, looking painfully earnest and Sirius _aches_ for his goodness and his heart. 

“What _matters_ is that whatever it told you about being a burden, or not deserving support,” Sirius reaches up and gently flicks the side of Remus’ head, but the gesture loses its intended playfulness in the tenderness of his motion. “Whatever it told you, it was _wrong,_ and we love you _so_ much, and I – I’m so, so fucking sorry.” His voice goes horribly wobbly, and he has to _fight_ to regain control, because he is _not_ making this about him, goddammit. Remus catches the slip though, and Sirius can _see_ the guilt piling on to his shoulders as he ducks his head. He yanks Remus’ hands closer to him, and says, “it’s not _your_ fault. We can be better. We can _do_ better.” He leans across the table and presses his forehead against Remus’, the latter closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

When he opens his eyes again, Sirius is startled to realise that they’re overly bright – he can see the droplets trembling on his lashes. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you – you all,” Remus manages, swiping at his eyes. “I never imagined – I don’t –“

“ _We_ are the lucky ones,” Sirius says, and his own eyes begin to burn a little at the ducts, like they always do when he sees someone else crying. (He _feels_ things, okay??) There’s a comfortable silence between them, in which they collect themselves and keep holding hands like it’s a normal, platonic thing that two grown men do. He can tell that Remus is building himself up to say something _big,_ and he forces himself to be patient, half-dreading what he’s going to hear.

“It just feels so fucking shit to be back here again. Like, I worked so hard to get out, and the second I take a breather, I'm falling back down this deep dark hole and I'm _so tired of fighting it._ I don't know that I have the energy to climb out again.”

The words strike an icy fear in to Sirius’ chest, but he refuses to let it show on his face, refuses to even consider for a second the possibility of a world without Remus in it. “But you _will_ ,” he insists. “Because you don’t have to do it on your own – we won’t let you do it on your own.”

Remus smiles a little sadly. “I think there are some things that only I can fight, Padfoot.”

“Yes, but it’s okay to lean on other people too,” Sirius returns, “it’s yours to fight, but we’re here for you – let us help you. Please.”

Remus takes a deep breath, and another, and withdraws his hands to press the heels in to his eyes. When he drags them down his face tiredly, Sirius can see the exhaustion in every single line, but there’s also something in Remus’ eyes that is fierce and brave and beautiful, something that tells Sirius that he’s not _done_ yet. Relief blooms around his heart as Remus gives a tiny nod, and the sensation is so strong, he could weep with it.

Their ice creams are almost entirely melted – lumps of chocolate floating in a pale pool of mixed cream, ice cream and sauce. Sirius despises melted ice cream and the way it feels in his mouth, so his dish is a lost cause. Remus, however, begins hoovering up the remainder of his bowl, and Sirius lets the silence drag out, giving them both a chance to just _breathe._

But eventually, Sirius asks “so, where do we go from here?” and Remus crinkles his nose.

“A fuckton of therapy,” he says, “some new medication. Sleeping pills. The usual crisis stuff – you know how it is.”

“When does the therapy start?”

“Tomorrow.”

Sirius blinks in surprise that _for once_ , the health services are doing something in a timely and appropriate manner – but thank God, because if there was ever time, it was now. “That’s really positive,” he says, and Remus nods but says nothing, focussing on his ice cream. “What can I do to help?”

Remus gives him a small smile (it’s a fraction of the bright beam Sirius knows and loves so well, but even this tiny movement makes his heart fluttery and warm). “Just being there – it means a lot. That you haven’t given up.”

“Never,” Sirius says fiercely, and Remus’ smile widens infinitesimally. Sirius hesitates, then reaches out and gently twists Remus’ palm face-up, so that the crusty red marks are stark against his skin. “And this?”

“This is the worst of it,” Remus says immediately, and he presses his hands over where Sirius knows scars litter his arms, as he always does when this topic comes up.  “I haven't - done anything else.”

It wouldn't be the first time that Remus has lied to him about self-harm, but there's something in his eyes that makes Sirius believe him - a vulnerable kind of naked honesty to this entire conversation that Remus usually avoids like the plague.  “Would you tell me if you felt like you had to?” Sirius asks.

Remus cocks his head, and slowly nods. “I think so, yeah. You or Prongs. Can I finish your ice cream?” The change of topic is bewilderingly fast, but as Sirius hands him his bowl, he is grateful that the conversation lasted as long as it did. Remus has the unfortunate habit of shutting down when it comes to his mental health, so in truth, this entire conversation has been an anomaly.

Sirius steers them towards new topics as Remus polishes off his ice cream too, chattering aimlessly about his new project at work, about James and Lily’s upcoming wedding, about Regulus’ message – though he skims over the details of this one, and Remus doesn’t press him. After a couple of hours in the café and the heaviness of the conversation, Sirius feels drained himself, so he can only imagine how shattered Remus must feel.

They leave around early evening, and Remus leans in to his side, his footsteps dragging. The train rattles Sirius’ bones as it sweeps the familiar course home. It’s the kind of busy where the two of them struck gold in finding seats opposite each other; every perch is occupied and there is only standing room left.

Between the legs of strangers and the bags that swing to and fro with the train’s motions, Sirius keeps a watchful gaze upon Remus, who’s hunched between two women, his eyes vacant and his hands twisting anxiously. Sirius knows Remus – knows he will always press his thighs as close together as possible, knows he tucks his arms in front of him and sucks in his stomach, knows he’s self-conscious about the amount of space he takes up, but even so; the sight of Remus so physically uncomfortable with himself never fails to make his heart pang.

The train pulls in to another stop, and the crowds shift and clear, before quickly clogging up once more. An older woman shuffles their way, and stands pointedly in front of Remus, who is so spaced out that he barely registers her presence until she coughs loudly.

Then he jerks up, out of his seat, wincing as he does so, and apologetically gestures for her to take it, which she does, without so much as a thank you. Sirius bites his tongue so hard on the points he wants to make that disability isn’t always visible, stereotypes are trash, and _that was so fucking rude, you cow_ , that he tastes the coppery tang of blood, but he knows that’s not what Remus needs right now.

Instead, he swings himself up, grabs Remus’ wrist, and murmurs, “take my seat” in his ear. Remus shakes his head, looking tired, and starts to say something dumb and self-sacrificing, but Sirius cuts him off.

“I mean it. You’re in pain, you’ve had a frankly shit day, let me do this for you.”

“You’ve done so much already,” Remus says quietly, but allows himself to be manhandled in to Sirius’ empty seat. Sirius shoots a vicious smile at the woman who has now settled herself comfortably in to Remus’ former place, and a concerned one at Remus who’s tilting his head back against the glass, his eyes closing in exhaustion.

When the train finally jerks in to their stop, Sirius has to gently shake Remus awake, heart swelling at the way Remus blinks drowsily up at him. Thankfully, it’s a short walk back to Remus’ apartment, and Remus immediately stumbles towards his bedroom, narrowly avoiding tripping over Winky by Sirius scooping her up last minute. Sirius potters around the kitchen for a while, feeding Winky and making tea – he appreciatively notes that James has restocked Remus’ cupboards, and that Peter has placed a dish in the fridge with a heart baked in to the crust of the pie. Before he heads to Remus’ bedroom, he drops a few messages in the group chat –

**Sirius:** _just got home_

**Sirius:** _the doc's changing his meds again & gave him sleeping stuff_

**Sirius** : _he has another appointment next week and emergency counselling this week with the crisis team_

(– and types out one to James, before hastily deleting it:

**Sirius** _: we had a long long talk and i hate this, i hate seeing him like this [crying face emoji]_ )

He pokes his head in the door of Remus’ room as responses ping through and settles himself on the end of Remus’ bed. Remus cracks an eye open and smiles tiredly at him from where he’s curled under the covers, making grabby hands at the mug in Sirius’ hands. Sirius chuckles as he hands it over, and then even more as Remus makes grabby hands at _him._ He tucks himself in to the spot next to Remus, and Remus immediately coils himself around Sirius, closing his eyes and sighing a little. Sirius presses a kiss to the top of Remus’ hair, and pulls him closer, his chest feeling almost painfully warm and full. His phone buzzes again, and he extracts an arm from the cuddle to check it, much to Remus’ disgust as he makes a little growling sound.

**Alice:** الحمد الله _[praising hands emoji]_

**Wormtail:** _ty for letting us kno_

**Prongs:** _give him our love [sparkling heart emoji]_

**Frank:** _seconded ^_

“Prongs sends his love on behalf of everyone,” Sirius murmurs, and Remus makes a vague humming sound, before his eyes snap open urgently.

“Is he okay? Has he eaten today?”

“Let me check,” Sirius says, already berating himself for not having thought of it.

**Sirius:** _@Prongs pls tell me you've eaten today_

**Prongs:** _I'm fine, dw about me_

**Sirius:** _no i mean it, moony is so worried abt you and the last thing he needs is to be stressed over you on top of everything else, so if you can't do it for you, pls try for him_

**Prongs:** _[a photo of him with an almost empty plate of dhaal, giving a thumbs up]_

**Lily: @** _Padfoot I love you but lay off my fiancé, Remus isn't the only one having a shit time_

**Prongs:** _it's fine Lils, he's right_

**Lily:** _[[Monsters Inc gif of Roz saying "I'm watching you, Wazowski, always watching"]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtWBlDC2-ss) _

**Sirius _:_** _i’m sorry @Prongs, that was shitty of me_

**Prongs:** _love you, Pads [sparkling heart emoji]_

The guilt is like a rock in his stomach because he _didn’t fucking think_ before he typed, and sure, James _says_ it’s fine, but it’s _not,_ and that’s yet another mess for him to feel terrible about, and –

“Padfoot? Is he okay?” Remus is clearly clinging to the edge of consciousness, and the tiny yawn he lets out sets Sirius off too (because now that he thinks about it, he’s fucking drained too).

“Lily’s looking after him,” he says, and as though it’s the permission Remus has been waiting for, he finally drifts off in his arms. Sirius feels Remus’ muscles unclenching as the tension seeps out of him, and his heart feels unbearably fond. There will be time to apologise tomorrow, he decides. Time to figure out the next steps for both Remus and James. Right now, what he need is sleep. And so, for once in his life, he refuses to let himself wallow in a guilty self-loathing and allows sleep to claim him.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna make it crystal clear that i love the nhs, it has saved my life and i am so so grateful to it. however i am also on a waiting list for counselling and have been for nine months, and will be for another eight. my issues with the health services are with the lack of funding it receives from the government, not the services themselves.
> 
> If y’all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!  
> Y'all are awesome, I'm so grateful for your wonderful feedback!  
> Love always & take care xoxo


	9. "I saved a piece for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of depression, anxiety, self-hate, self-harm, difficult family relationships.

“I want you to say the first word that comes to mind if I ask you to describe each of the important people in your life… don’t think about it, I just want you to say whatever appears first, alright?” At Remus’ nod, she continues, “Alice.”

“Kind.”

“Marlene.”

“Strong.”

“James.”

“Brave.”

“Peter.”

“Lovely.”

“Lily.”

“Brilliant.”

“Sirius.”

“Love.” The word spills from Remus’ lips before he can contain it, and he swallows hard. Dilys doesn’t react, save a slightly curve of her lips.

“Remus.”

“Insignificant.”

Dilys sits back in her chair and gives him a _look_ – the kind of look that Remus has only ever received from therapists, where it’s sort of unreadable and momentous all at once. “Is that really the first word that springs to mind, Remus?”

Remus shifts uncomfortably on his seat, cringing at the way the material of his jacket squeaks against it. He shrugs, but then, under Dilys’ continued stare, nods once.

“So, you have all these positive words to describe your friends – compassion, courage, romance – but you label yourself as not important?”

Remus shrugs again. “ _Less_ important, I guess.”

“Why?”

For what feels like the umpteenth time, Remus shrugs. Dilys rolls her eyes, “come now, Remus, you can do better than that.”

He represses a heavy sigh, and slowly tries to piece together a response that isn’t dripping in self-loathing. (Spoiler: he fails). “My friends are – the best people I’ve ever met. They are all… so _good_ , and kind and bright, and they’ve got all these _achievements_ and _careers_ and _families._ ” He pauses and licks his lips, staring at the dry, cracked skin of his knuckles. “They deserve _so_ much. And I – I can’t give them that. I’m just _me_.” His voice wobbles a little, and he clamps his jaw tightly shut, horrified at how quickly a lump has risen in his throat.

“Are you not good and kind?” Dilys asks gently. “Aren’t you the man who has been bending over backwards for months to try and help his best friend settle in to his new life? Aren’t you the man who took in a kitten because said best friend wanted you to? Who is so worried about another friend that you talked about him for ten minutes today before you would even consider talking about yourself?”

“Those things aren’t _kind_ , though” Remus tries to explain. “Those are just – friendship things.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not kind. You gave up time at work, time and money you urgently needed, for Sirius. You took in a kitten you can’t afford, for him. You put James before yourself every single time. I could go on, Remus, because there are so many examples of ways that you have shown your friends more care than you would _ever_ show yourself.”

Remus ducks his head and digs his nails in to his palm a little.

“As for strong, Remus, for goodness sake, you have depression and anxiety and suicidal thoughts, you have been through more than most people can imagine, and you _still_ show people so much kindness. If that’s not strong, I don’t know what is.”

“Lily taught me to do that,” Remus mumbles weakly, and Dilys ignores the comment.

“You say that you’re just _you_. But do you want to know who _I_ see?”

“You don’t know me,” Remus says bluntly.

Dilys raises her eyebrows. “We’ve spent over an hour together every day for the last two weeks.”

Remus says nothing, which Dilys apparently takes as a sign to continue, “I see a young man who has an extraordinary amount of love in his heart, some great potential if only he’d believe in himself a little more, and a very rare kind of strength to have dealt with everything and refused to give up. A man who deserves to be incredibly proud of himself and aware of his own brilliance.”

A drop hits the back of his hands, and he blinks in confusion as another quickly follows. He touches a hand to his cheeks, which he’s startled to realise are damp with tears, and swallows down the sob that’s attempting to escape his mouth.

Dilys’ voice is impossibly soft. “Why are you crying?”

“I – d-don’t know,” Remus says, his voice cracking, and he presses a hand across his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know, I-“

“How do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” Remus chokes out. There’s a long pause, and Remus can feel Dilys’ eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to meet them, because the care he sees there might truly tip him over the edge. Instead, he keeps his palms over his eyes, breathing ragged sobs, tear ducts leaking _incessantly_ , because he can’t seem to _fucking stop._

“You don’t need to feel ashamed of crying, Remus.”

“I’m not,” says Remus reflexively, but his shaky voice belies the statement.

“Bullshit,” says Dilys plainly, and Remus can’t help but snort at the cuss.

Dilys isn’t his usual therapist, because Poppy doesn’t deal with crisis patients, but he’s met her once before during a previous breakdown. Initially, the difference threw him, because he’s so, _so_ goddamn tired of having to explain his mental health history to therapist after therapist after therapist, but Dilys focused on the _now_ , which was like a breath of fresh air. She’s blunt but empathetic, absolutely refusing to stand for any of his self-deprecating ‘bullshit’ but always speaking from a place of genuine concern.

“I’m going to ask you a question, Remus, and I want you to really think about it. Take as long as you need, okay?”

Remus nods, drying his still-weeping eyes on his sleeve and taking a few steadying breaths.

“Why do you hate yourself?”

Remus’ first instinct is to laugh, to dismiss it, to say _why wouldn’t I?_ or _how long do you have?_ Or something equally defensive. But underneath that, there’s something like genuine curiosity, because, he’s got this far, hasn’t he? There has to be something worth saving, something that his friends see as important enough to stick around for. Buried under all of the _shittiness_ and _uselessness_ that is Remus, there’s a tiny voice that says _don’t go_ and _hold on_ , and it’s for that infinitesimal sliver of his soul that he forces himself to _try._

He’s used to examining the dark, cruel, _ugly_ side of him that twists every positive quality he has in to selfishness and spite, sucks the life out of him like a parasite. He’s used to it because it’s how he’s spent weeks at a time: wallowing in a self-loathing so deep and so toxic that he’s almost lost himself to it on occasion. When other people point out the ‘good’ in him, the voice in his head scoffs that they’re lying. When he does something that is objectively, unquestioningly ‘good,‘ it murmurs that he’s just pretending. When things fall apart, when he can’t move without searing pain in his limbs, when he can’t breathe past the tight knot of anxiousness in his chest, it informs him that _he deserves this_. And he’s so used to just accepting that voice as truth.

But why?

Because it feels easier to loathe himself and recognise that such a piece of shit _deserves_ this suffering, than to admit that actually, he’s not the monster that his mind persuades him he is. Because fighting this bullshit takes every last scrap of his strength and energy he can’t afford to lose when his depression is already sapping everything from him. Because when he’s being crushed at the bottom of an ocean of self-hatred, his ‘goodness’ is a distant light on the surface, and he is _drowning_.

Maybe the problem isn’t that he hates himself, but that convincing himself otherwise takes more than he is capable of giving. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t feel like he matters enough to _try_ and love himself.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Remus says slowly, licking his lips. “Because it feels like I don’t have any other choice. Because I’m _tired_.”

“Too tired to try?”

Remus closes his eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he says, and exhaustion roughens his tone.

“Meaning?”

“Obviously not.”

Dilys watches him for a minute in silence, and Remus shifts uncomfortably. It’s a relief when she speaks again, even if the question is another impossibly complicated one for him to untangle. “So, where do we go from here?”

Remus sighs. “I want to matter,” he says eventually, the words pathetically small and fragile, and he almost cringes from the vulnerability of everything he’s admitting. “Not just to other people – to myself. I want to – to _care_ about me.”

“Okay.” It’s such a simple response but it’s _enough –_ the relief he feels is palpable, and Dilys seems to sense this, because she smiles and leans towards him a little. “The very fact that you’re here, the fact that you’re _trying_ , says a lot about you, Remus. It tells me that a part of you somewhere does care.”

Jerkily, Remus nods. “What now?” he asks, because the mountain he has to climb to get over this issue has never seemed taller.

“ _Now,_ we’re going to talk about why you matter,” Dilys says, and chuckles as Remus grimaces. “Starting with your strengths. I want you to tell me about something you think you’re good at.”

* * *

As always, he leaves the counselling centre feeling drained in a way that only therapy can make him. He feels like his brain has been through a particularly aggressive spin cycle – although not necessarily in a bad way, because he can tell he’s starting to shake loose some of the evil thoughts clinging to his skull. Progress is painstaking, but he can look at himself _now_ compared to a fortnight ago, and he can feel the weight on his chest slipping a little. Part of that, he knows, is the heavy-duty sleeping medication he’s been prescribed because regular deep sleep works wonders, but being able to talk so much and so often to Dilys is just as important.

His homework is to stop himself every time he does something self-deprecating or self-sacrificing and challenge the thought process behind it. Which is harder than it looks, considering he’s been out of the office ten minutes and has already tallied up seven incidences.

But it’s a work in progress – _he’s_ a work in progress. And that’s okay.

(He is still not sure how much he wants to stick around, but the urgency in his chest has lessened. It’s now more of a dull ache that twinges when he is alone, a voice whispering insults at him that is muffled by new medication, a passive want rather than a frantic _need_ ).

Other things that are apparently works in progress: Winky’s litter-training.

He steps through his door and has to do some ballerina-style leap to avoid stepping straight in to a turd. He lands awkwardly, right in front of Winky, who stares up at him ruefully and mewls.

“ _Why,_ Winky?” Remus groans in exasperation, because in the four months he’s had her, shitting in her litter tray hasn’t been an issue before this week. Winky blinks, licks the back of her paw, and begins cleaning her ears disdainfully.

Remus makes it another five seconds before his annoyance fades, because she is ridiculously adorable, and she damn well _knows_ it, and sure enough, he absent-mindedly strokes down her body as he makes his way towards the cleaning products under the sink. As he’s cleaning up the mess, it occurs to him that this is a true mark of recovery; a fortnight ago, he wouldn’t have had the energy to deal with it, and it would have probably stayed there stinking up the apartment.

Just as he’s finishing up, his phone begins buzzing violently off the table, and clatters to the floor. Wincing, Remus hurries over, praises G-d that the screen is no more cracked than it was already, and hits answer without even checking who’s calling.

“ _Ahava shelli_ , hiiii!” The warm and dulcet tones of his mother’s voice float through the phone, and Remus can’t help the wary glance he casts at the clock.  

“Mama, hi,” he says, “how are you?”

“Better for hearing your voice, hey?” Remus closes his eyes and pictures his family home; it’s a little after twelve, so Hope is likely standing in front of her tiny stove, with the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, her hands busily chopping or stirring.

“And how is papa?”

“Yes, he is fine, we are all fine.” There’s a pause, in which Remus hears the distinct splashing sound of something being dropped in a pot.

“Is there a reason you called, mama? Only I have to go out soon for James and Lily’s cake-tasting for their wedding-“

“What, so now I need a reason to talk to my only son?” Hope’s voice is teasing, but Remus still squirms guiltily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“I know, love, I know. I won’t be a long time-“ (Remus resists the urge to snort, because Hope has never done a quick call in her life) “- I just _worry_ , I haven’t heard from you for _days_. You didn’t come home for Rosh Hashana, you say you can’t do Yom Kippur – what’s next, you’re not coming for Chanukah?” It’s only because Remus has practice at this that he can hear past the indignant hurt in her tone and recognise the genuine concern. “What are you doing?”

 “Things have been… difficult, mama. I’m sorry I haven’t come home.” Remus winces at his weak-ass excuses. It’s not that he’s ashamed or dishonest about his mental health issues, it’s more a lack of understanding – not for want of trying, but still a fundamental misunderstanding. His family doesn’t really _get_ why he sometimes can’t get out of bed for days at a time, why he doesn’t answer messages until he can summon the energy weeks later, why the scars up and down his arms and legs mar his skin – they don’t get it. And Remus has enough on his plate without dealing with intrusive and misjudged questions and comments from well-meaning relatives. This year has been spectacularly shit, and he couldn’t have gone home even if he’d tried, because he’d had three or four embarrassingly loud and frustrated breakdowns about it.

His parents are _trying_ though, which he appreciates, and he _knows_ that lots of mentally ill people don’t get so lucky. Conversations about mental health now revolve less around ‘why don’t you just get up and go outside?’ and ‘stop thinking so negatively, focus on the happy things!’ and focus more on actually helpful support. But no matter how much progress they make, there’s still a barrier between them when it comes to this particular topic (and Remus knows that’s partly on him) – he isn’t sure whether it’s the immigrant thing, or the Jewish thing, or his ‘gay thing’ on top of everything else, but by this point, he’s sort of accepted that there are some things he and his family will never quite see eye-to-eye on.

“You were depressed?”

Remus blinks in surprise at the bluntness of her voice – he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her address it so directly before. “Yes, mama. Things got – uh, really bad for a while.” His voice still shakes a little when he thinks about just how bad things _really_ were, and how much further he has to go until they’re _not._

Hope is silent for a minute; the only sounds are the clinking of her ladle against the side of the pan. “And how are you now?” she says eventually, and the words are as gentle as one of her hugs.

“I’m… getting better,” Remus says, sliding down the side of the cabinet to sit on the floor. Winky immediately plonks herself in to his lap, and he strokes her distractedly as he searches for the right words. “I’m seeing a therapist more regularly. And I’m on different medication,” he waits for her standard _tsk_ of disapproval at the mention of drugs but is taken aback when it never comes. So, he continues, “things are getting better again. Slowly but surely, you know?”

“And your friends, they take good care of you, hey?”

Remus smiles. “They’ve been wonderful.”

“Sirius especially, hey?” The teasing lilt is back in her voice, and Remus feels – again – surprised at where this conversation is headed, but also strangely pleased, if embarrassed.

“ _Mama_ , how did – he’s not – he’s been perfect,” Remus finishes lamely, and Hope laughs brightly.

“Come now, Remus, you have been sweet on that boy since the day you first met him, I’m your _mother,_ I know these things. When will you ask him to marry you, hey?”

Remus groans, “oh my – we’re not even _together_.”

“Well what are you waiting for? I’m not getting any younger, and I want to see my son happily settled before I’m on my deathbed.”

“I – I’m waiting to, for him to, argh. I’m waiting to feel like I deserve him.” It’s more honest than he intended to be, but it’s the truth, and Hope’s sharp intake of breath tells him the teasing is over.

“Now, you listen here, Remus. That man, he would be _lucky_ to have you – anybody, any man would be darned lucky to have someone so _sweet_ and kind and thoughtful.” Her voice is fierce and full of the kind of powerful love that Remus feels from the tips of his toes to the crown of his skull. It draws him in the past, memories of his primary school bullies cowering at the ferociousness of this woman.

“Thank you, mama,” he says softly, and Hope sighs.

“There is no need,” she says simply, and Remus is about to protest, before she takes another breath, as though she’s gearing up to something big. “I – I’m sorry I haven’t been what you needed from me-“

Remus’ hand stills on Winky’s fur. “Mama, don’t-“

“No, I haven’t, and I know it. I have been… talking with my rabbi about how to support you. And… he, how you say… set me straight on some things. Your father too, we are both learning. We haven’t tried enough. And I want to _do_ better.”

There is a lump in Remus’ throat the size of a tennis ball, and he should probably be alarmed at how hard it is to breathe, but he’s too distracted by the fact that his mother is saying _everything_ he’s waited so long to hear. His eyes are suddenly burning lava-hot for the second time that day, and his mind frantically scrambles for a response.

“Mama, I – you –“ Everything sounds woefully inadequate, and he draws in a shaky breath. “That means _so much_ , I can’t explain, I – thank you.”

“I love you, Remus,” Hope says quietly, but the sincerity in her tone tips him over the edge and he lets the tears fall, because for the first time, he thinks she _means_ it – she loves _all_ of him, even the bits she can’t quite understand.

“I love you too,” he says immediately, aching for her to understand the depth of his gratitude. He thinks maybe she gets it, because once they’ve both collected themselves, the conversation shifts to another topic, and it’s different, it’s _better._ There’s an easiness in her questions about his health, and Remus stops trying to censor himself – it’s so much _better,_ and the high it gives him as they say goodbye an hour later is giddying.

The conversation had been _high-key_ ground-breaking in terms of progress – Remus thinks that might have been the first honest conversation he’s had with his mother about his mental health and love-life and not wanted to die in a hole after. It’s a lot to process, but for once, it’s _good_ stuff to process, and Remus feels like a wall he didn’t know was erected around his heart has been demolished.

In fact, the only downside to the conversation is the fact that he’s now forty-five minutes late to James and Lily’s cake-tasting (which is apparently something rich people do, who knew?), which is low-key devastating because it’s one of the few things about wedding planning he was genuinely looking forward to.

He seizes his keys and phone from the floor, grimacing at the messages and missed calls, and forces himself up and out of the door.

* * *

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Remus calls, bursting through the door of the bakery and setting the bell jangling vigorously. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“No worries, Moonbeam,” James waves him over, squeezes him in a side-hug, and continues, “we haven’t made a decision yet.”

Next to him, Lily also tugs him in for a kiss on the cheek. “But we already had the chocolate fudge cake, I’m sorry, hun.” Remus pouts exaggeratedly to hide his crushing disappointment (because that cake is _fucking special_ , and Kingsley _refuses_ to share the secret recipe).

“Moony,” Sirius waves him to an empty seat next to him, and Remus slides in to it, taking in the table, which is a warzone of plates coated with sticky crumbs and cream, mugs of tea, and a couple of untouched, strikingly decorated mini cakes. “I saved a piece for you,” Sirius says quietly, sliding a decadent slice of chocolate fudge cake towards him, and Remus can’t help but moan happily, leaning his head against Sirius’ shoulder gratefully.

“I fucking _love_ you,” he says with his mouth stuffed full, and Sirius chuckles, wrapping an arm around him and… leaving it there? (Remus would fiercely deny it if anyone asked, but he sinks in to the warm contact a little, feeling himself relax fully for the first time today. As it is, he catches Lily’s knowing gaze, and rolls his eyes at her smirk).

“How was therapy?” Sirius asks, accepting a slice of what looks to be carrot cake, or, as Remus likes to call it, a Travesty, because what kind of sicko puts _vegetables_ in cake?

Remus swallows the last mouthful with difficulty and takes his own slice. “It was okay,” he says, eyeing the carrot cake suspiciously. “I had a really good chat with my mum too, I’ll tell you about it later?”

Sirius looks like he can barely contain his delight. “I’d love that,” he says, grinning broadly, and the two of them turn to join the main conversation, which is a heated debate on the virtues of buttercream icing over royal icing. ( _Obviously,_ Remus sides buttercream, he’s not an _idiot_ ).

The rest of the afternoon is the first time in a long time that Remus has felt genuinely _happy_ , and he wraps up the precious warm glow in his chest and locks it away safely, because he _needed_ this so badly. The opportunity to laugh at Peter with chocolate frosting on his nose, feeling his insides clench with anxiety-love-pleasure as Sirius feeds him a bite of red velvet cake, learning that carrot cake is not the devil he had imagined – all of it piles on top of each other, and fills him to bursting with a contented blanket around his shoulders.

Even the prospect of the suit-fitting with James, Sirius, Peter, Kingsley, and Frank – usually something that Remus would avoid like the plague, because it involves some of his least favourite things (mirrors from every angle, someone putting measuring devices around his ‘problem areas’) – can’t dampen his spirits for long. The _bandh-galas_ for the Indian side of the wedding is loose and flowing, and he feels like a fucking _prince_ in it with its sparkling reds and golds. As for Lily’s ceremony, the suit is nicer than anything he owns – probably nicer than everything he owns put-together, and ten times the cost – another thing that ordinarily would make him cringe with anxiety and shame at his own poverty, but today only causes an uneasy stirring in his stomach, that is quickly alleviated by Frank’s _terrible_ attempt at dancing.

He finds that instead of the usual tsunami of shame and self-loathing, he can’t bring himself to care that much when his trousers need to be taken out another inch. Because Sirius is beaming at him from where he’s being fitted himself and mouthing ‘ _I’m so proud of you’_ and James is flapping over how phenomenal Frank looks in purple and gold, and Peter and Kingsley are dancing like pros, and for once, Remus feels unstoppable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one's pretty limited in r/s action (the next one is a biggie tho i promise)  
> no matter what stage of recovery you are at, even if you feel like you're failing, i'm so proud of you, keep going. recovery is t o u g h. you are tougher.
> 
> if y’all have any questions, or requests or if you just wanna chat, pls hit me up on [tumblr](little-old-rachel.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/littleoldrachel) to get in touch!  
> feedback makes my world go round and I need some of that rn!  
> love always & take care xoxo


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